GIFT  OF 
Class   of   1907 


THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 


BRONSON  HOWARD 


THE 


AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 


MONTROSE  J.  MOSES 

AUTHOR  OF  *«  THE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  SOUTH,"  "  HENHIK  IBSEN, 
THE   MAN  AND  HIS   PLAYS,"  ETC. 


SECOND  EDITION,  REVISED 


SUustratcb 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1917 


Copyright,  19  il,  1017 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved 

ef/16?. 

' 


'9/7 


6.  J.  rAiuann,  &  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


TO 
THE    MEMORY    OF 

THREE  AMERICAN  DRAMATISTS 

BRONSON  HOWARD 
JAMES  A.  HERNE 
CLYDE  FITCH 


5SSGOH 


PREFACE 

THERE  is  no  book  treating  distinctively  of  the  American 
Dramatist  and  his  work.  This  volume  is  therefore  designed 
to  meet  a  want  which  some  day  will  be  felt,  though  at  present 
the  literary  critic  contents  himself  in  the  belief  that  there 
is  no  American  drama,  and  never  has  been.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  the  activity  has  none  the  less  existed,  and  no  literary 
treatise  has  dealt  with  it  properly. 

The  task  has  been  a  very  agreeable  one,  but  not  easy, 
for  the  material  is  scattered,  and  each  year  becomes  more 
chaotic.  If  the  student  of  the  drama  does  not  begin  to  realize 
that  dramatic  records  must  be  preserved,  there  will  never 
be  any  hope  for  the  future  literary  historian  who  might 
desire  to  consider  the  evolution  of  American  drama.  The 
copyright  law  governing  theatre  literature  should  require 
at  least  one  copy  of  a  play  registered  in  Washington,  pro 
vided,  of  course,  it  has  been  given  adequate  production. 

Such  precaution  would  assure  to  the  student  that  which 
is  his  by  right  —  the  means  of  following  a  certain  art  ac 
tivity  which,  even  though  it  cannot  now  stand  the  test 
of  pure  literary  comparison,  at  least  appealed  to  popular 
taste  and  reflected  popular  interest. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  whole-souled  assistance  rendered 
me  at  every  turn,  this  book  would  have  been  impossible  to 
write.  I  have  had  access  to  private  papers,  I  have  spent 
many  pleasant  and  profitable  hours  examining  manuscripts, 
and  studying  personalities.  These  are  the  attractive  moments 
that  give  human  value  to  work  which  could  be  readily 
swamped  in  detail. 

vii 


viii  PREFACE 

But  research  requires  patience,  and  one  is  brought  sud 
denly  to  a  grim  realization  of  its  slowness.  When  this  book 
was  begun,  A.  M.  Palmer  vwas  alive;  during  its  initial  period 
I  profited  by  the  unfailing  help  and  encouragement  of  Bron- 
son  Howard,  and  later  I  was  made  to  feel  the  necessity  for 
such  a  book  through  the  splendid  enthusiasm  of  Clyde 
Fitch.  Chapters  written  then  have  had  to  be  altered  be 
cause  these  men  are  dead.  But  they  are  not  forgotten 
even  though  the  literary  critic  fail  to  recognize  them. 

The  American  drama  is  a  fact;  it  has  a  body,  whatever 
the  value  of  its  spirit.  In  its  local  sense,  it  is  a  reflection 
of  local  condition  and  type  characteristics;  in  its  technical 
sense,  it  exhibits  special  mannerisms,  and  shows  itself  sub 
jected  to  special  influences.  The  American  dramatist  has 
evolved  from  certain  social  factors,  and  his  product  —  the 
American  drama  —  has  developed  by  reason  of  theatrical 
economics.  There  are  always  definite  reasons  to  be  found 
for  every  literary  activity.  If  at  one  time  the  American  stage 
was  filled  with  American  types  of  similar  cartoon  value, 
such  was  the  accepted  convention  of  the  time;  if  there  was 
more  French  attitude  than  American  in  the  early  society 
drama,  it  was  because  French  technique  was  being  imitated; 
if  Bronson  Howard  has  a  right  to  the  title  of  Dean  of  the 
American  Drama,  he  must  have  stemmed  a  current  that 
opposed  him;  if  journalism  dominates  our  stage  to-day, 
there  must  be  some  reason  for  the  reportorial  treatment  of 
most  of  our  present  native  drama. 

I  have  tried  to  carry  out  this  plan  in  the  following  pages: 
to  emphasize  the  individual  contributions  to  the  idea  of  an 
American  drama,  to  summarize  the  striking  qualities  of 
dramatists  who  are  original  in  position,  to  enumerate  the 
social  and  economic  causes  affecting  the  theatre,  and  through 
the  theatre  limiting  the  dramatist's  work. 

Since  this  book  was  first  written,    many  changes   have 


PREFACE 


IX 


taken  place  in  the  drama,  both  as  relates  to  its  spirit  and  to 
its  external  functioning.  I  have  added  three  new  chapters 
to  the  material  herewith  offered,  indicating  the  rise  of  new 
dramatists,  the  influence  of  Little  Theatres,  and  the  advance 
in  the  technique  of  the  moving-picture.  I  have  left  the  other 
chapters  as  they  were  when  first  written,  not  thinking  it 
necessary  to  go  into  the  small  details  of  change  which  have 
occurred  since  1910. 

For  example,  on  page  247, 1  have  referred  to  the  possibility 
of  a  stadium  being  erected  in  New  York  City.  This  stadium 
has  been  erected,  and  has  been  put  in  use:  first,  for  the 
exploitation  of  Greek  drama  under  the  direction  of  Gran- 
ville  Barker;  then  as  a  setting  for  the  stupendous  Shake 
speare  Tercentenary  Masque,  "  Caliban,"  written  by  Percy 
Mackaye;  and  finally  for  grand  opera  in  the  open.  The 
use  of  the  stadium,  as  a  theatre,  at  New  York  City  College, 
and  at  Harvard  University,  together  with  the  playing  of 
"Iphigenia  in  Tauris,"  in  the  Yale  Bowl,  have  had  no 
appreciable  effect,  thus  far,  in  indicating  to  the  American 
Dramatist  that  the  stadium,  as  a  theatrical  setting,  is  of  any 
great  value.  Due  to  the  rise  of  pageantry,  it  may  be 
that  the  stadium  will,  in  the  future,  be  utilized  as  a  theatre 
for  the  Democracy.  But,  unless  the  American  Dramatist 
is  to  be  a  writer  of  pageants,  like  Dr.  Thomas  Wood  Stevens, 
the  subject  is  one  which  has  no  place  in  a  book  of  this 
character. 

My  indebtedness  is  great,  largely  measured  by  a  bibliog 
raphy  which  I  have  compiled  for  the  benefit  of  the  Ameri 
can  student.  This  bibliography,  with  the  one  appended  to 
my  "Famous  Actor-Families  of  America,"  in  general  covers 
the  field  of  theatrical  activity  in  this  country. 

In  particular,  I  wish  to  acknowledge  the  courtesy  shown 
me  by  the  library  authorities  of  Columbia  University.  The 
New  York  Public  Library  contains  a  most  valuable  col- 


x  PREFACE 

lection  of  material,  which  has  yet  to  be  properly  sorted. 
To  Mrs.  James  A.  Herne,  Professor  Brander  Matthews, 
Mr.  Percy  Mackaye,  and  others,  I  take  this  opportunity  of 
extending  my  thanks  for  their  generous  desire  to  aid  me. 

My  thanks  are  also  due  to  the  Editors  of  The  Book 
News  Monthly,  The  Independent,  The  Bellman,  The  Forum, 
and  The  Theatre  Magazine  for  permission  to  use  certain 
articles  which  I  have  published  from  time  to  time. 

MONTROSE  J.  MOSES. 
MAY  29,  1917. 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

PREFACE vii 

CHAPTER 

I   DRAMA  AS  A  SOCIAL  FORCE     .    .    .    .    j   .          1 
II   THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY    .<       11 

III  THE    TREND   OF    AMERICAN    DRAMA    FROM 

1750  TO   1870 ;    .^V.1  .-  37 

IV  OUR  LITERARY  AND  OUR  CLOSET-DRAMA.    .  59 
V   BRONSON  HOWARD:   DEAN   OF  THE   AMERI 
CAN  DRAMA -  73 

VI   JAMES  A.  HERNE  AND  THE  REALISTIC  DRAMA       90 
VII   DAVID  B£LASCO  AND  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF 

THE  SWITCHBOARD Ill 

VIII   THE  CASE   OF   PERCY  MACKAYE  AND    His 

FATHER  ...........    .    .    .      135 

IX   THE    CARDBOARD    PLAY    AND    THE    WELL- 
MADE    PLAY:    AUGUSTUS  THOMAS  AND 

WILLIAM  GILLETTE 154 

X   CONCERNING  CLYDE  FITCH  AND  THE  LOCAL 

SENSE 169 

XI   CONCERNING  MELODRAMA 186 

XII   THE  KINETOSCOPIC  THEATRE 200 

XIII   THE  PROGRESS   OF    THE    MOVING-PICTURE 

SINCE  1910   .  215 


xii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIV  SHOULD  THE  POETIC  DRAMA  BE  DRAMATIZED  227 

XV  SUNLIGHT,  MOONLIGHT,  AND  FOOTLIGHT    .  239 

XVI   FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA 251 

XVII   A  NEW  OR  A  NATIONAL  THEATRE      .    .    .  276 
XVIII  THE  ADVANCE  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA  SINCE 

1910 289 

XIX  THE  CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES     .    .    .  309 

XX  THE  NEED  FOR  A  DRAMATIC  LIBRARY  .    .  341 
XXI   THE  DISINTEGRATION  AND  REGENERATION 

OF  THE  THEATRE 352 

XXII  I/ENVOIE      367 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 379 

INDEX  .  395 


LIST   OF   PORTRAITS 

PAGE 
Bronson  Howard •.     .    Frontispiece 

Edwin  Milton  Royle 13 

Channiug  Pollock     ......     ..'....  16 

William  Vaughn  Moody 24 

Charles  Klein 33 

Richard  Harding  Davis 37 

Augustin  Daly .     .     .     .     .  57 

Rachel  Crothers 83 

James  A.  Herne .  92 

David  Belasco .     .    ...  112 

A.  M.  Palmer ^     ,     .     .  117 

Henry  C.  De  Mille ...  135 

Percy  MacKaye  and  Charles  Rann  Kennedy  ....  140 

Steele  MacKaye 144 

Augustus  Thomas ~  •     •     •     •  160 

William  Gillette .  : .     .  166 

Clyde  Fitch 170 

Dion  Boucicault 188 

Josephine  Preston  Peabody 229 

Edward  Harrigan 271 

George  Ade 274 

Minnie  Maddern  Fiske 283 

Charles  Hoyt 346 

Rupert  Hughes 377 


THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 


CHAPTERS 

DRAMA  AS  A   SOCIAL   FORCE 

WE  are  so  prone  to  pin  our  faith  to  terms,  that  we  are  quite 
in  danger  of  receiving  a  distorted  idea  of  drama  as  art,  and 
of  the  theatre  as  a  social  institution.  It  is  well  to  note  that 
frenzied  drama  has  been  tried  and  found  wanting.  After 
all,  it  is  bad  economics  to  shut  one's  eyes  to  the  character 
of  popular,  average  returns  on  one's  investments.  It  is 
incumbent  upon  us  to  lay  significant  stress  upon  the  moral 
accountability  of  the  theatre  to  the  civic  body  as  a  civic 
institution,  and  of  the  playwright  to  the  community  as  a 
citizen.  But  the  manager  has  a  right  to  expect  some  tangible 
response  from  his  audiences  in  exchange  for  amusement  given 
them.  The  freedom  of  the  theatre  from  the  calculating 
touch  of  commercialism  would  be  only  one  of  the  agents  to 
call  forth  the  best  energies  of  the  citizen-playwright  in 
America. 

The  endowed  institution,  much  less  a  subsidized  theatre, 
would  not  alone  create  the  art  demand,  would  not  alone 
call  forth  the  highest  type  of  communal  expression,  would 
not  alone  establish  the  poet  as  dramatist,  even  though  he 
might  have  his  hand  upon  the  pulse  of  the  people.  There  is 
a  deeper  education  to  be  done  first;  for  in  every  true  move 
ment  which  has  carried  the  world  forward  in  its  progressive 
growth,  the  real  dramatist  has  risen  above  conditions,  and, 
by  seeming  acceptance  of  physical  and  formal  convention, 
has,  in  the  end,  forced  convention  with  him. 


2  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Critics  of  the  theatre  are  prone  to  rush  headlong  into  a 
most  complicated  of  machines,  and  expect  to  change  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  the  whole  social,  economic,  aesthetic,  and 
spiritual  organism  of  the  institution.  At  least  it  were  wiser 
to  take  conditions  as  they  are,  rather  than  to  supplant  them 
with  chimerical  and  untried  theories.  For  everyone  will 
agree  that  in  the  education  of  theatre  audiences,  the  first 
essential  is  to  begin  with  the  audiences;  not  to  close  the 
vaudeville  houses  to  them,  but  to  make  them  challenge  the 
validity  of  their  fragmentary  amusement,  and  to  think  on 
the  possible  enjoyment  of  higher  things.  The  American 
theatre  manager  of  the  present  has  much  on  his  side  of  the 
argument,  when  he  holds  fast  to  certain  types  of  theatrical 
successes,  until  he  is  assured  of  a  different  demand;  until 
he  is  certain  that  his  change  of  bill  will  guarantee  him 
against  loss. 

The  greatest  hope  of  the  theatre  to-day  rests  with  the 
people.  The  first  expressions  of  communal  art  came  from 
the  people;  the  Greek  drama  developed  from  a  national 
sentiment  and  from  a  national  religious  custom.  The  modern 
stage  came  into  existence  through  a  church  necessity  and  by 
way  of  vulgar  tongue  and  guild  support.  So  we  see  that, 
institutionally,  the  art  of  representing  life  has  always  been 
called  into  use  for  social  purposes.  However  much  it  has 
been  elaborated  from  the  old  vocero  or  tribal  songs  of  grief, 
and  from  the  tropes  of  the  church  service;  however  much  it 
has  departed  from  the  dithyrambic  chorus,  it  has  made  its 
appeal  to  the  crowd.  The  theatre  that  is  cut  aloof  from  the 
crowd,  if  it  is  not  altogether  impossible,  is  at  least  so  anaemic 
that  its  energies  are  squandered  for  want  of  the  red  blood 
of  popular  appreciation.  The  whole  art  value  of  drama  is 
at  first  determined  by  the  extent  of  its  instant  appeal  to  a 
crowd;  and  there  are  as  many  types  of  drama  as  there  are 
broad  communal  appeals. 


DRAMA  AS  A  SOCIAL  FORCE  3 

The  mistaken  idea  has  long  been  held  that  the  play  is  a 
thing  governed  wholly  by  the  caprice  of  the  dramatist. 
The  theatre  is  always  close  to  life,  and  exists  by  reason  of 
communal  sanction.  Even  artificial  comedy  grew  out  of 
the  prevalence  of  artificial  manner.  Dramatic  form  has  in 
turn  been  moulded  to  receive  the  content,  and  has  been 
changed  as  the  content  was  changed;  this  is  best  seen  in  a 
comparison  of  "CEdipus"  with  Ibsen's  "Ghosts."  The 
dramatic  treatment  of  the  mysteries  of  life,  as  they  react 
upon  the  individual,  has  been  modified  in  accordance  with 
the  highest  individual  action  toward  those  very  mysteries. 
Hence  the  progress  from  the  Greek  idea  of  Fate,  to  the  meta 
physical  concern  for  the  individual  soul,  to  the  modern  con 
ception  of  heredity  —  almost  as  inexorable  as  Fate  —  and 
finally  to  the  collectivist  concern  for  social  regeneration, 
which  seems  to  be  the  color  of  American  drama. 

It  makes  no  difference  how  you  approach  the  drama  — 
whether  from  its  physical,  its  technical,  or  its  economic 
side  —  the  crowd  is  always  concerned,  and  very  largely 
determines,  through  public  opinion,  the  dramatist's  ten 
dency,  even  as  he,  if  he  be  big  enough,  reinforces  or 
determines  the  crowd's  cast  of  thought. 

In  the  opening  pages  of  his  book  on  "Social  Forces  in 
German  Literature,"  Professor  Kuno  Francke  writes: 

"The  fundamental  conception  which  underlies  the  fol 
lowing  account  ...  is  that  of  a  continued  struggle  between 
individualistic  and  collectivistic  tendencies,  between  man 
and  society,  between  personality  and  tradition,  between 
liberty  and  unity,  between  cosmopolitanism  and  nationality 
—  a  struggle  which  may  be  said  to  be  the  prime  motive 
power  of  all  human  progress." 

Undoubtedly,  from  such  a  conflict  we  are  certain  of  obtain 
ing  a  moving  literature  as  well  as  a  contemplative  one. 
Through  it,  there  is  the  dramatic  impulse,  the  theatrical 


4  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

clash,  the  life  force  —  on  the  one  hand  seeing  intensely,  on 
the  other  dreaming  truly;  and  who  knows  but  the  time  is 
now  at  hand  in  America  when  this  social  impulse  shall  again 
lead  to  our  prophesying  boldly? 

In  all  that  pertains  to  the  greatest  literature,  dramatic  or 
otherwise,  the  one  tremendous  law  of  life  is  that  it  must  flow 
through  us,  purging  the  soul  of  its  impurities,  even  though 
in  doing  so  it  deal  with  the  impure,  for  the  purpose  of 
correcting  evil.  Modern  social  drama,  as  represented  by 
Ibsen,  Hauptmann,  and  Sudermann,  with  their  less  inevitable 
follower,  Pinero,  is  full  of  such  atmosphere. 

Let  it  be  granted,  before  the  argument  as  to  social  forces 
is  stated,  that  drama  is  something  to  be  played  before 
people,  and  hence  is  something  to  move  people.  This  is  one 
of  its  essential  characteristics,  one  of  its  chief  marks  of  dis 
tinction  in  comparison  with  other  species  of  forceful  litera 
ture.  We  also  grant,  echoing  Freytag,  Price,  and  others, 
who  in  turn  but  faintly  echo  Aristotle,  that  drama  is  reflec 
tive  of  life,  and  is  necessarily  influenced  by  the  intellectual, 
social,  and  economic  environment  of  the  dramatist,  even 
though  the  subject-matter  be  foreign  to  the  time  in  which 
the  dramatist  lived.  Throughout  Shakespeare,  whether  he 
be  dealing  with  the  Caesars,  with  the  Capulets,  or  with  the 
Danes,  the  Elizabethan  is  always  nigh.  No  man  in  any  walk 
of  life  may  escape  his  age.  Even  the  iconoclasts  are  in 
advance  of  theirs  as  a  reaction  against  it;  or  as  Emerson 
claims,  every  social  reform  was  once  a  private  opinion. 

Again,  it  is  wise  to  grant  in  drama  as  in  life  that  conflict 
means  clash  of  will.  The  heroic  marionettes  interpret  this 
as  a  clash  of  physical  bodies,  due  to  unbridled  physical 
passion  outwardly  made  manifest.  The  humanistic  drama 
regards  it  in  a  deeper,  a  more  intensive  sense.  This  clash 
involves  philosophical  distinction,  and  is  nowhere  better 
exemplified  than  in  the  progress  of  Maeterlinck,  whose  con- 


DRAMA  AS  A  SOCIAL  FORCE  5 

ception  of  Destiny  has  altered  to  accord  with  his  later  belief 
that  human  will  may  sometimes  control  the  working  of 
Fate.  We  now  recognize  nothing  as  wholly  inevitable  that 
comes  from  our  own  life-force.  Destiny  has  changed  into  a 
Christian  principle  that  as  we  sow,  so  shall  we  reap.  "We 
are  masters  of  our  Fate,"  sings  Henley.  We  destroy  only 
that  we  may  build  better  upon  our  mistake,  or,  as  Shaw 
says:  "Every  step  in  morals  is  made  by  challenging  the 
validity  of  the  existing  conception  of  perfect  propriety  in 
conduct." 

The  drama,  therefore,  depends  upon  social  support;  it 
has  to  talk  of  life  in  terms  of  life,  and  it  has  to  appeal  to 
life  in  matters  with  which  life  is  concerned.  Even  before 
nationality  in  drama  added  characteristics  which  distin 
guished  the  British  from  the  French  or  Germans,  and  differ 
entiated  the  Americans  as  separate,  even  though  a  part  of 
the  English,  the  drama  echoed  the  fundamental  principles 
of  life,  and  dealt  specifically  with  the  vital  energy  which 
surged  through  man's  blood. 

Of  course,  even  to-day,  the  vital  literature  at  its  most 
vital  moments  transcends  nationality,  though  not  rejecting 
it.  Ibsen  in  Scandinavia,  Hauptmann  and  Sudermann  in 
Germany,  Tolstoy  in  Russia,  Shaw  in  England,  are  all  swept 
by  the  same  social  movement  which  tends  toward  partial 
social  solution,  even  though  the  methods  of  using  it  are 
surprisingly  uncomfortable  for  those  of  us  who  are  willing, 
as  Vockerat  says  in  Hauptmann's  "Lonely  Lives,"  to 
be  "the  drones  in  the  hive."  To  the  big  dramatist,  to  the 
true  citizen,  the  happy  ending  in  drama  is  one  that  satisfies 
only  when  it  cleanses  and  leaves  the  soul  in  the  light  of 
truth. 

The  drama  as  a  social  force  —  apart  from  its  primary 
object  to  have  and  to  hold  the  interest  of  a  crowd  through 
the  essential  factor  of  its  story  —  has  resulted  in  a  species 


6  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

of  play  which,  for  want  of  a  better  term,  has  been  designated 
"  the  social  drama."  It  is  really  a  drama  of  condition,  social 
or  economic.  All  critics  recognize  it  as  a  definite  species: 
Shaw  in  his  prefaces,  Henry  Arthur  Jones,  Walkley,  W.  P. 
Eaton,  and  Clayton  Hamilton  distinguish  it  as  a  form  in 
which  the  message  is  carried  direct;  in  which  conviction  is 
being  hurled  at  the  people,  regardless  of  sensibilities  and 
regardless  of  whether  the  immediate  crowd  heed  or  not. 
But  the  dramatist  who  disregards  the  crowd  is  no  real  man 
of  the  theatre;  he  will  find  it  difficult  to  have  his  philosophy 
—  social,  economic,  or  spiritual  —  accepted  across  the  foot 
lights.  And  truly,  as  Mr.  Hamilton  has  stated  in  his  sug 
gestive  book  on  "  The  Theory  of  the  Theatre,"  the  dramatist 
under  these  conditions  might  as  well  be  a  novelist;  he  would 
be  heeded  much  more  readily.  Drama  will  not  abide  long 
exposition,  such  as  one  finds  in  the  plays  of  Paul  Bourget 
and  in  the  last  act  of  Augustus  Thomas's  "  As  a  Man  Thinks." 

We  grant,  therefore,  that  no  man  may  escape  his  time, 
and  least  so  the  man  of  the  theatre;  the  current  of  life 
carries  him  with  it.  After  summarizing  Sudermann's  "Hei- 
mat,"  and  calling  it  a  "literary  thundercloud,"  Professor 
Francke  describes  modern  Germany  in  this  manner: 

"On  the  one  hand,  Bismarck,  whether  in  office  or  out;  on 
the  other,  Bebel.  On  the  one  hand,  the  ruling  minority, 
wonderfully  organized,  full  of  intellectual  and  moral  vigor, 
proud,  honest,  loyal,  patriotic  but  hemmed  in  by  prejudice, 
and  devoid  of  larger  sympathies;  on  the  other,  the  millions 
of  the  majority,  equally  well  organized,  influential  as  a 
political  body,  but  socially  held  down,  restless,  rebellious, 
inspired  with  the  vague  idea  of  a  broader  and  fuller  human 
ity.  On  the  one  hand,  a  past  secure  in  glorious  achievements; 
on  the  other,  a  future  teeming  with  extravagant  hopes.  On 
the  one  hand,  service;  on  the  other,  personality.  On  the 
one  hand,  an  almost  religious  belief  in  the  sacredness  of  hered- 


DRAMA  AS  A  SOCIAL  FORCE  7 

itary  sovereignty;  on  the  other,  an  equally  fervent  zeal  for 
the  emancipation  of  all,  both  conservatives  and  radicals, 
both  monarchists  and  social  democrats,  inevitably  drifting 
toward  the  same  final  goal  of  a  new  corporate  consciousness, 
which  shall  embrace  both  authority  and  freedom." 

Now,  this  summary  includes  the  whole  significance  of 
social  forces,  though  it  only  examines  the  political  and  his 
torical  aspects  of  the  subject.  There  is  no  doubt  that  drama 
also  finds  itself  reflecting  the  same  aspects,  but  more  is 
involved  in  the  play  by  the  very  essence  of  its  nature.  His 
tory,  philosophy,  sociology,  and  economics  deal  with  the 
effects  of  social,  economic,  historical,  and  philosophical 
action.  Drama  deals  directly  with  those  forces  dominantly 
in  action;  it  designates  this  person  as  against  that,  this  con 
dition  as  against  that.  One  principle  opposed  to  another 
results  only  in  philosophical  speculation;  it  is  neither  life  nor 
drama. 

Condition,  after  all,  has  a  double  effect.  It  not  only  colors 
the  play  by  keeping  the  playwright  within  the  pale  of  vital 
interests,  but  it  likewise  prompts  the  dramatist  to  incor 
porate  therein  that  part  of  himself  which  is  in  rebellion 
against  existing  condition.  He  exerts  his  art  for  three 
reasons:  to  express  himself,  either  inspirationally  or  con 
sciously;  to  convince  others  of  the  presence  of  social  evil 
in  a  community,  showing  them  at  the  same  time  the  means 
of  social  betterment;  and  finally,  to  develop  character  in 
relation  to  the  conditions  of  which  he  treats.  It  is  always 
necessary  to  keep  drama  close  to  life,  —  a  drama  which  not 
only  draws  from  life,  but  which  in  turn  reacts  on  life  itself. 

This  has  made  the  writer  of  social  drama  intense,  —  per 
haps  more  absorbed  than  he  should  be  in  the  beclouded 
atmosphere  which  he  strives  to  clear.  The  time  has  come 
when  we  are  beginning  to  see  that  the  social  dramatist's 
vision  has  been  too  persistent  in  its  view  of  evil.  Life  is  not 


8  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

one  continual  shady  past,  and  Eugene  Walter's  "  The  Easiest 
Way,"  poignant  in  its  theme,  is  neither  healthy  in  its  solution 
nor  agreeable  in  its  situations.  Everyone  will  grant  that 
even  Ibsen,  toward  the  close  of  his  career,  came  to  see  where 
in  he  had  robbed  himself  of  the  sweetness  of  life  by  the  per 
sistent  dwelling  upon  the  canker-worm;  he  even  began  to 
sneer  at  himself  after  having  burned  his  soul  with  the  red- 
hot  terror  of  "Ghosts."  The  idealist  in  "The  Wild  Duck," 
who  wrecks  the  conventional  ideal  happiness  of  others,  is 
only  the  cartoon  of  himself.  Yet  what  larger  social  force  in 
modern  drama  than  Ibsen  —  revolutionizing  technique  and 
showing  how  to  vitalize  the  commonplace  incidents  of  life! 
His  social  significance  has  been  individual  as  well  as  com 
munal;  and,  curiously,  though  he  disclaimed  any  effort  on 
his  part  to  be  a  champion  of  women,  his  contemplation  was 
fixed  on  the  feminine  half  of  society  which  needed  to  be 
free  in  order  that  civic  life,  and  all  civic  institutions  pledged 
to  the  perpetuation  of  civic  life,  might  be  free.  This  is  the 
essential  moral  purpose  of  all  social  drama. 

There  are  other  ways  of  remedying  society  than  by  treat 
ing  solely  of  conditions  as.  they  are.  The  realist  has  done 
a  deal  of  good  by  his  so-called  "muck-raking,"  but  there  is 
likewise  a  necessary  benefit  to  be  conferred  by  "  star-gazing." 
Let  us  grant  that  only  by  respecting  the  rights  of  others  will 
a  man  respect  himself.  If  he  cannot  regard  the  laws  of 
cities,  let  him  have  a  care  for  the  laws  of  nature.  If  he 
cannot  be  the  frock-coat  citizen  —  and  assuredly  the  pillars 
of  society  need  reinforcing  some  time  —  let  him  at  least 
be  a  man,  not  dependent  on  the  dictates  of  his  passion  only. 

Condition  is  simply  the  back-drop  of  life;  man's  soul  and 
woman's  soul  are  the  prime  considerations.  The  horizon 
may  be  dimmed  by  factory  smoke,  but  while  the  "muck- 
raker"  is  attempting  to  clear  the  atmosphere  of  condition, 
there  is  no  need  to  allow  the  soul  to  be  smirched  with  black. 


DRAMA  AS  A  SOCIAL  FORCE  9 

And  when  we  speak  of  the  horrors  of  tenement  condition 
in  America,  there  is  likewise  another  picture  of  epic  breadth 
we  may  hold  in  mind  —  the  vast  wheat  fields  of  the  West 
under  the  open  sky  calling  for  labor,  which  either  does  not 
or  will  not  hear.  We  can  draw  from  American  life  the  feel 
ing  that,  however  economically  oppressed,  in  truth  we  are 
masters  of  our  fate. 

As  a  social  force,  drama  necessarily  must  be  in  touch  with 
the  sympathies  of  those  with  whom  it  comes  in  closest  con 
tact.  The  foreigner  who  brings  to  America  a  French  play 
wholly  concerned  with  the  problems  of  family  life  as  the 
Gallic  spirit  conceives  it,  will  find  the  American  superficially 
attracted.  There  must  be  a  touch  of  sympathy  with  condi 
tion  in  drama,  as  well  as  with  human  passion.  We  found 
"Les  Affaires  sont  les  Affaires"  ("Business  is  Business") 
of  poignant  interest  because  its  business  strain  was  in  accord 
with  Wall  Street.  Londoners  could  find  nothing  in  the 
problem  of  "The  Lion  and  the  Mouse"  —  aside  from  its 
faulty  logic  —  for  the  simple  reason  that  to  British  audiences 
the  Standard  Oil  history  is  simply  a  history  and  not  a  condi 
tion  confronting  the  Empire. 

In  this  consideration  of  social  forces  —  and  no  playwright 
may  disregard  them  —  there  are  certain  distinguishing 
features  of  American  life  which  may  some  day  find  unified 
expression  in  a  native  theatre.  We  are  being  affected  by 
European  drama  to  the  extent  that  we  are  learning  to  make 
use  of  the  deep  and  vital  problems  of  human  nature,  and  to 
exalt  them  above  the  mere  effectiveness  of  situation;  we  are 
being  taught  that  there  are  intimate  social  relations  which  we 
are  too  prone  to  take  for  granted  without  determining  for 
ourselves  the  exact  foundations  on  which  they  are  based;  we 
are  learning  technique  from  the  European  writers  of  social 
plays,  and  need  not  be  ashamed  of  the  well-made  dramas 
by  Augustus  Thomas  and  William  Gillette.  Finally,  we  are 


10  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

beginning  to  see  that  the  world-movement  is  touching  our 
own  shores,  and  is  demanding  of  us  the  solution  of  problems 
much  the  same  as  those  confronting  every  nation  of  the 
earth.  What  we,  as  a  civic  body,  may  say  is  this:  Let  us 
solve  the  problems  according  to  our  national  strength,  and 
according  to  the  moral  point  of  view  upon  which  we  have 
agreed  to  live  as  a  nation. 

The  call  of  revolt  in  drama  is  not  anarchy,  and  we  in 
America  have  not  quite  realized  its  meaning.  But  we  are 
intellectually  alive  to  its  presence.  And  in  order  to  gain 
strength  we  must  feel  in  the  soil,  the  common  clay,  for  the 
vital  force  which  has  yielded  us  more  grain  than  our  labor 
is  able  to  garner,  but  which  has  not  yet  yielded  us  a  full 
harvest  of  art  and  idealism.  What  now  has  to  be  determined 
by  our  American  dramatist  is :  how  may  he  so  combine  what 
is  being  learned  from  Ibsen  on  the  one  hand,  and  from 
Maeterlinck  on  the  other,  as  to  create  out  of  the  workman, 
the  plowman,  the  laborer  in  the  field,  the  artisan,  a  poet  as 
well  as  an  ordinary  man? 

Yet  we  need  not  hesitate,  for  we  perforce  must  seek  in 
condition,  in  the  tang  of  our  soil,  for  American  drama.  It 
is  useless  to  think  that  we  may  transplant  something  foreign 
to  our  natures,  and  that  it  will  flourish.  We  must  meet 
life  in  our  own  way,  and  not  have  it  met  for  us  by  others 
in  their  foreign  way.  Still,  the  value  of  social  drama  lies  in 
the  impulse  it  gives  to  our  dramatists  to  depend  on  other 
than  newspaper  knowledge  for  condition  and  for  human 
nature.  Social  forces  lie  deep;  they  are  not  on  the  surface; 
they  are  the  true  history  of  any  movement.  Hence,  it  is 
not  cleverness,  but  understanding,  they  require  for  their 
full  and  ample  explanation. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  AN   AMERICAN   PLAY 


WE  hear  much  about  the  American  dramatist;  we  are  al 
ways  denying  him,  and  at  the  next  turn  we  are  discovering 
him.  Some  critics  proclaimed  with  much  assurance  that 
William  Vaughn  Moody  had  reached  the  goal  in  "The 
Great  Divide,"  but  it  was  only  notable  in  its  suggestion  of 
largeness;  some  others,  lost  in  the  admiration  of  literary 
values,  declare  that  Percy  Mackaye's  "Sappho  and  Phaon" 
was  great  drama  and  that  his  "Mater"  adequately  discussed 
the  problems  of  democracy.  But  these  declarations  are 
futile,  and  have  only  relative  significance.  Either  a  dram 
atist  has,  or  he  has  not,  written  a  play  with  some  telling 
substance  in  it.  That  is  the  primary  test  of  the  theatre  — 
the  test  that  knows  no  nationality. 

Henry  Arthur  Jones  is  spoken  of  as  an  English  dramatist 
—  first,  because  that  language  is  his  vehicle  of  expression. 
Bronson  Howard,  Clyde  Fitch,  and  David  Belasco  likewise 
use  this  medium  —  and  in  such  a  sense  American  drama 
is  but  a  subdivision  of  the  English  drama.  However,  Mr. 
Jones  is  a  British  dramatist  because  of  something  funda 
mentally  deeper.  Spiritually,  mentally,  socially,  he  has 
been  subject  to  national  characteristics,  he  has  been  trained 
in  an  English  environment,  he  has  been  educated  in  English 
institutions.  It  would  have  been  as  impossible  for  him  to 
conceive  the  theme  of  "The  Lion  and  the  Mouse,"  as  it 


12  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

would  have  been  for  Charles  Klein  to  have  written  it  on  his 
first  arrival  in  America. 

A  dramatist's  point  of  view  must  be  shaped  by  the  body 
politic  in  which  he  lives.  The  interests  and  local  distinctions 
of  any  nationality  are  reflected  in  its  literature,  and  the  es 
sentials  of  an  American  play  should  reflect  the  essentials 
of  American  life  —  not  in  the  philosophic  sense,  but  in  the 
broader  and  more  human  sense. 

We  are  free  in  our  use  of  the  term,  "American  drama;" 
we  are  even  freer  in  our  hasty  assertions  that  no  distinctively 
American  drama  exists;  and,  what  is  more  to  the  point,  we 
find  it  difficult  to  define  what  is  exactly  the  dominant  note 
that  stamps  a  play  as  American.  Let  us  attempt  to  define, 
in  order,  the  two  terms  in  this  cant  phrase,  "American 
drama." 

Consult  the  American  dramatists  of  all  grades  of  distinction, 
and  their  opinions  scarcely  vary.  Bronson  Howard,  the 
Dean,  once  said:  "By  the  term  I  should  mean  any  play  that 
is  written  by  an  American,  or  in  America  by  a  foreign  resi 
dent,  that  is  produced  here,  and  that  deals  with  any  subject  — 
using  America  in  the  sense  of  the  United  States.  The  phrase, 
American  drama,  if  extended  to  a  full  description,  would  be 
'Plays  written  in  the  United  States,  chiefly  in  the  English 
language/"  As  to  general  characteristics,  Mr.  Howard 
recognized  none  as  distinctive  of  this  country  alone,  thereby 
inferring  that  humanity  is  universal,  whether  garbed  in  a 
cowpuncher's  outfit  or  in  a  king's  uniform.  But  Hamlin 
Garland's  claim  that  it  is  locality  which  marks  nations, 
and  Bret  Harte's  exemplification  of  that  fact,  lead  one  to 
agree  with  the  terseness  of  Augustus  Thomas'  opinion  that 
the  American  drama  is  written  by  Americans  upon  American 
subjects,  and  is  stamped  with  peculiar  humor  and  distinct 
character-drawing.  Such  requisites  even  give  rise  to  sec 
tional  literature  of  a  kind  that  distinguishes  W.  D.  Howells 


EDWIN  MILTON  ROYLE 


IWU 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY    13 

from  Thomas  Nelson  Page,  or  Mary  E.  Wilkins-Freeman 
from  Charles  Egbert  Craddock.  Elsewhere  Mr.  Thomas 
has  asserted,  "  There  are  very  few  good  lines  in  a  play  that 
go  to  waste,  and  with  their  general  acceptance  as  good,  there 
is  little  disposition  to  regard  the  nationality  of  the  author. 
A  good  line  by  anybody  secures  immediate  recognition  by 
any  audience  of  understanding."  Herein,  however,  we 
detect  an  element  of  weakness  in  Augustus  Thomas,  as  a 
playwright,  for  in  many  of  his  plays  on  the  order  of  "De 
Lancy,"  "Mrs.  Leffingwell's  Boots,"  and  "The  Other  Girl," 
wit  and  sharp  lines  predominate  in  lieu  of  any  strong  idea. 

Harry  B.  Smith,  writer  of  many  comic  opera  librettos, 
places  rigorous  requirement  upon  American  drama.  "  I  do 
not  think  we  have  an  American  drama,"  he  writes,  "in  the 
sense  that  there  is  a  French  drama  or  an  English  drama. 
Our  plays  are  clever,  run  a  season  or  two,  and  then  are 
relegated  to  the  top  shelf.  There  will  be  no  American  drama 
until  plays  are  written  that  endure,  and  take  their  place  in 
the  body  of  literature." 

It  is  the  "square  deal"  that  American  audiences  mostly 
seek,  such  a  spirit  as  made  Milton  Royle's  "The  Squaw 
Man"  a  popular  success.  The  large  heart  rather  than  the 
subtle  one,  the  direct  deed  rather  than  the  evasive  thought, 
and  the  terse  answer  rather  than  the  veiled  meaning,  compel 
sympathetic  interest  in  an  American  crowd.  Most  of  our 
dramatists  have  learned  this  directness  through  newspaper 
work.  Howard,  Thomas,  and  A^ejj^aji^  repqpft^* 

This  quality  of  "  uplift, "  therefore*  &  synoh/mous'with  the 

word  "American."  To  be  an! Anjeti<jan-meAifeil», tavern 
•  i-  ,11  •  IA  •  i  ••'•"«.•••••  *••  *A  •  •  *• 

indisputable  right  to  rise  above  environment.     Democracy 

knows  but  one  level,  and  that  is  the  equity  of  justice;  de 
mocracy  gives  out  the  great  privilege  of  drawing  no  dis 
tinctions  and  of  raising  no  barriers,  save  those  that  are  made 
by  differences  of  character.  The  American  is  placed  upon 


14  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

the  highroad  of  life,  and  there  comes  to  him,  in  the  face  of 
Fate,  the  American  note:  "It  Js  up  to  you."  There  it  is  in 
a  nutshell,  and  in  the  popular  language.  This  is  the  dis 
tinctive  character  of  the  literature  we  are  seeking  and  of  the 
drama  which  we  hope  to  have. 

The  American  is  clean  and  healthy;  to  him  the  home 
means  a  great  deal.  His  temper  is  quick  to  renounce  aban 
don,  despite  all  we  hear  of  the  divorce  courts  at  Reno;  his 
directness  is  not  sympathetic  toward  what  the  faddist  is 
pleased  to  call  subtlety.  The  dominant  feature  of  American 
character  is  action;  hence  it  must  be  the  essential  requisite 
of  American,  as  it  is  of  all,  drama. 

The  indisputable  right  to  rise  above  environment  —  is 
that  our  fundamental  note?  It  excludes  the  idea  of  tragedy 
as  the  Greeks  conceived  it,  and  indeed  we  are  not  deeply 
moved  by  the  inevitable  of  Sophocles.  Someone  has  written: 

"In  defeat,  the  American  sows  the  seeds  of  victory;  .  .  . 
for  there  is  no  event,  not  the  worst,  but  God  is  of  and  in  it. 
And  for  GEdipus  in  his  remorse,  and  Oswald  in  his  imbecility, 
there  is  infinite  certainty  of  good.  .  .  .  Paradoxical  as  it  is, 
the  fact  is  clear  that,  in  the  heart  of  a  Georgia  mob,  in  Whit- 
tier's  verse,  and  in  the  cowpuncher's  respect  for  a  woman, 
there  lives  the  same  spirit  whose  largeness  and  delicacy, 
whose  tenderness  and  unconquerable  daring,  made  American 
life  the  most  vital  in  the  world." 

We  applaud  this  nobleness  of  attitude,  wheresoever  it  is 
to  be  found ;  we  claim  it  £s  our  own.  There  is  an  epic  strength 
to  the  fight  —  a  force  that  will  come,  it  may  be,  with  the  sweep 
of  jjielodramfy  but  healthfully  active.  In  "The  Virginian," 
Owen  Wister  says : 

"All  America  is  divided  into  two  classes  —  the  quality 
and  the  equality.  The  latter  will  always  recognize  the  for 
mer  when  mistaken  for  it.  Both  will  be  with  us  until  our 
women  bear  nothing  but  kings. 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY    15 

"It  was  through  the  Declaration  of  Independence  that 
we  Americans  acknowledged  the  eternal  inequality  of  man, 
for  we  abolished  a  cut-and-dried  aristocracy.  We  had  seen 
little  men  artificially  held  up  in  high  places,  and  great  men 
artifically  held  down  in  low  places,  and  our  own  justice- 
loving  hearts  abhorred  this  violence  to  human  nature.  There 
fore  we  decreed  that  every  man  should  thenceforth  have 
equal  liberty  to  find  his  own  level.  By  this  very  decree 
we  acknowledged  and  gave  freedom  to  true  aristocracy, 
saying  'Let  the  best  man  win,  whoever  he  is.'  Let  the 
best  man  win!  That  is  America's  word.  That  is  true 
democracy." 

The  strength  of  our  American  life  lies  in  a  marked  com 
panionship  of  the  American  people.  We  like  evidences  of 
this  fact  in  our  books;  we  applaud  it  on  our  stage.  This 
is  why  "The  Virginian,"  poor  as  it  was  in  its  dramatized 
form,  drew,  for  reason  of  its  quiet  dignity  of  conception, 
its  quick  decision,  and  its  elemental  passion. 

Speaking  of  his  hero  and  heroine  in  "  The  Gentleman  from 
Indiana,"  which  failed  in  its  dramatization,  Booth  Tarking- 
ton  writes:  "The  genius  of  the  American  is  adaptability, 
and  both  were  sprung  from  pioneers  whose  mean  life  de 
pended  on  that  quality."  But  in  this  momentary  accept 
ance  of  inherited  environment  lies  the  infinite  source  of 
action.  Later  on  in  the  narrative,  there  runs  through  the 
hero's  mind  a  definition  of  success:  "To  accept  the  worst 
that  Fate  can  deal,  and  to  wring  coujage  from  it  instead  of 
despair."  This  is  the  dominant  note  in  our  American  life, 
and  we  seek  it  in  our  drama. 

There  is  a  speech  in  "  Strongheart,"  a  sincere  and  vigorous, 
if  not  a  vital,  play  by  William  C.  DeMille,  where  an  Indian 
has  to  forsake  his  love  of  a  white  girl,  because  he  is  a  red 
man;  yet  in  his  strength  of  sentiment  he  claims  his  infinite 
right  as  a  man.  "You  have  taken  the  land  of  my  fathers," 


16  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

he  cries,  "  yet  when  I  live  by  your  laws,  you  will  not  call  me 
brother.  I  am  the  son  of  a  chief.  In  what  way  am  I  not 
your  equal?  You  would  take  from  me  my  pride  and  my 
love.  Do  you  think  you  can  take  these  without  a  struggle? 
.  .  .  You  called  me  from  among  my  mountains  to  be  one  of 
you.  I  was  happy  there.  You  showed  me  the  great  life 
beyond  and  now  you  bid  me  keep  back!  You  tell  me  that  I 
may  not  share  it,  but  must  stand  outside,  because  I  am  an 
Indian.  No,  —  I  will  not  do  it." 

Then  in  the  end,  Billy,  the  typical  American  college  boy, 
sees  Strongheart  alone  in  his  grief  and  goes  to  him.  This 
dialogue  follows: 

Billy:  What 's  up  between  you  and  the  boys? 

Strong.:  The  prejudice  of  centuries. 

Billy:  Is  that  straight? 

Strong.:  Yes. 

Bitty:  Then  I  'm  ashamed  of  my  whole  race,  and  I  '11  go  and 
tell  'em  so. 

An  audience  applauds  such  unstinted  generosity;  it  has  a 
laugh  of  jubilation  in  it;  it  gives  a  reportorial  comment,  and 
an  incisive,  spontaneous,  youthful  judgment.  It  comes 
from  a  good  heart,  and  is  the  verdict  of  man  for  man. 

The  indisputable  right  to  rise  above  environment  —  here 
is  the  source  for  large  action,  and  it  demands,  in  technique, 
a  quick  grasp  of  essentials. 

"  I  'm  a  business  man,  Miss  Dearborn,"  explains  Curtis 
Jadwin  in  Channing  Pollock's  dramatization  of  Frank 
Norris's  "  The  Pit."  "  It  does  n't  take  me  long  to  discover 
what  I  want,  and,  when  I  find  that  thing,  I  generally  get 
it.  I  want  you  to  marry  me." 

This  is  not  our  customary  way  of  showing  sentiment, 
but  there  is  an  activity  in  it  typical  of  American  life.  It 
reveals  a  defiance  of  petty  convention  and  of  cloaked  mean 
ing.  Our  problem  has  largely  been  in  the  direction  of  stress 


CHANNING  POLLOCK 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY   17 

and  strain.  Yet  Jadwin,  the  typical  business  speculator  on 
Wall  Street,  is  made  to  exclaim: 

"Oh,  it's  not  the  money,  Laura;  it  never  was.  It  was 
the  excitement.  I  had  to  do  something.  I  could  n't  sit 
around  and  twiddle  my  thumbs.  I  don't  believe  in  lounging 
around  clubs,  or  playing  the  race,  or  murdering  game  birds, 
or  running  some  poor,  helpless  fox  to  death." 

Here  one  detects  an  essential  contrast  between  English 
and  American  life.  We  have  no  recognized  type  of  the  gay 
Lord  Quex  class;  we  do  not  believe  in  the  decadence  that 
grows  from  worse  to  worse.  Because  for  two  generations  a 
man's  ancestors  may  not  have  been  all  that  they  should 
have  been,  the  present  holds  an  infinity  of  reward  in  store 
for  him  who  has  the  strength  to  fight  character,  tradition, 
or  condition,  in  the  light  of  truth.  It  is  ever  the  cry  of  energy, 
and  the  gleam  of  hope  in  a  nature  never  beyond  the  point 
of  redemption. 

In  Richard  Harding  Davis's  "Soldiers  of  Fortune"  —  a 
success  as  far  as  popular  dramatization  was  concerned  — 
Clay,  the  hero,  says  to  the  society  Langham  girl,  who  has 
taunted  him  with  being  content  to  labor: 

"  No,  ...  I  don't  amount  to  much,  but,  my  God !  .  .  . 
when  you  think  what  I  was.  ...  If  I  wished  it,  I  could 
drop  this  active  work  to-morrow,  and  continue  as  an  ad 
viser —  as  an  expert  —  but  I  like  the  active  part  better. 
I  like  doing  things  myself.  .  .  .  It 's  better  to  bind  a  laurel  to 
the  plow  than  to  call  yourself  hard  names." 

The  continental  importations  that  come  to  us  have  nothing 
of  this  ethical  ring  to  them;  they  are  teaching  us  the  possi 
bilities  that  enter  life,  spiritually,  socially,  and  economically; 
they  are  warning  us,  by  their  realistic  discussion,  against 
the  part  of  life  that  flaunts  degradation.  That  book  is  liked 
the  best  in  America,  that  play  is  applauded  the  most,  which 
gives  a  human  soul  the  right  of  way  to  find  its  own  salvation. 


18  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

The  American  tragedy  is  one  of  incompetence,  —  a  lack  of 
individual  character,  and  not  of  constitutional  weakness 
or  of  national  depravity. 


n ; 

There  is  more  than  the  mere  defining  of  American  drama 
as  something  written  by  a  native  or  a  foreigner,  resident  in 
America.  There  is  even  something  more  than  the  fact  that 
we  are  moved  and  prompted  by  events  that  confront  us  in 
our  social,  political,  industrial,  and  commercial  relations. 
Though  immediate  events  may  not  be  permanent,  they  are 
at  least  significant,  and  drama  should  always  deal  with  sig 
nificant  moments,  motives,  or  situations.  The  stage  is 
denied  the  right  of  emphasizing  the  existence  of  little  mo 
ments.  Ibsen  may  seem  to  have  done  this,  but  his  dramas 
usually  start  at  high  speed,  and  advance  by  compressed 
thought  and  essential  dialogue. 

To  define  American  drama,  it  is  as  paramount  that  we 
understand  the  essentials  of  drama  in  general,  as  that  we 
gauge  the  meaning  of  the  word  "American."  History  would 
justify  our  differentiating  drama  from  the  mass  of  literature 
by  the  very  fact  that  the  stage  is  the  ultimate  means  by 
which  the  dramatic  writer  intends  to  reach  his  public.  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  that  drama  is  emphasized  as  a  special 
branch  of  literature  primarily  because  the  story  is  to  be  shown 
in  the  active  concrete,  rather  than  told  in  the  passive  or 
static  —  and  that  of  necessity  the  word  drama  carries  with 
it  the  ideas  and  considerations  of  dramatist,  actor,  audience, 
and  stage. 

Dramatic  form  does  not  always  constitute  drama,  though 
it  may  claim  to  mean  literature.  Tennyson  failed  signally  as 
a  playwright  —  despite  the  support  of  Henry  Irving;  Brown 
ing  likewise  failed  —  despite  the  encouragement  of  Macready 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY    19 

—  because  the  mind's  eye  saw  what  could  not  be  visibly 
depicted;    because  genius  pondered  where  progressive  action 
should  have  carried  forward  the  story  to  the  end.    But  when 
we  obtain,  in  lieu,  the  poetry  of  a  Tennyson  or  of  a  Browning 

—  even,  in  some  respects,  of  a  Stephen  Phillips  —  we  can 
afford  to  lose  the  playwright.    Yet  we  cannot  see  where  the 
fact  of  poetry  should  be  an  excuse  for  failure  as  playwright, 
if  the  poet  aims  for  the  stage. 

In  America,  we  have  the  poetic  drama,  but  it  neither  con 
trols  the  stage  nor  does  it  bear  evidence  of  native  strength. 
"Judith  of  Bethulia,"  by  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich,  was  a  slow- 
moving  tragedy,  a  mixture  of  Lady  Macbeth  and  studied 
history;  it  was  devoid  of  spontaneous  imagination,  and  the 
action  was  embroidered  in  words.  Josephine  Preston 
Peabody  (Mrs.  Lionel  Marks)  in  her  "Marlowe"  or  "  The 
Piper,"  Percy  Mackaye  in  "  A  Garland  to  Sylvia,"  or  "Sappho 
and  Phaon,"  Ridgely  Torrence  in  "Abelard  and  Heloise," 
Olive  Dargan  in  "Lords  and  Lovers"  —  all  of  them  have 
courted  form  alone,  ignoring  the  dynamics  of  the  stage,  or 
the  exigencies  of  the  scene.  These  plays  are  better  fitted  for 
the  closet. 

A  reading  public  and  a  theatre  public  differ  in  this:  that 
what  the  reader  loses  he  may  regain  by  turning  back,  but 
what  the  audience  misses  is  wholly  lost,  unless,  by  chance, 
repetition  brings  it  further  on  in  the  development  of  the  plot. 
American  drama  is  not  as  yet  sufficiently  compact  in  struc 
ture  to  satisfy  both  the  stage  and  literature. 

We  often  hear  it  said  that  drama  is  a  reflex  of  life;  hence, 
that  American  drama  is  a  reflex  of  American  life.  This  is 
but  another  way  of  asserting  that  drama  is  action,  since  life 
is  action;  that  drama  is  imitation,  since  reflex  means  re 
flection;  and  that  action  is  not  an  end  in  itself,  but  is  defi 
nitely  directed  towards  a  goal,  since  life  is  full  of  purpose. 
Drama,  if  it  means  directed  action,  must  of  necessity  call  in 


20  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

the  exercise  of  the  human  will,  and  where  will  is  required, 
there  is  involved  the  compensating  element  of  opposition. 

Therefore,  a  definition  of  drama  should  state  that  it  is 
action  directed  toward  an  end;  that  it  is  the  exertion  of  hu 
man  will  stimulated  by  some  large  emotional  or  mental  view; 
that  it  is  struggle,  whether  against  environment  or  the  indi 
vidual  —  a  struggle  against  Destiny  or  heredity  or  will. 

There  is  a  moment,  however,  when  events,  moved  by  con 
tending  emotions,  push  action  to  its  highest  pitch.  The  tide 
therefrom  begins  to  ebb,  to  adjust  or  resolve  itself.  Were 
we  to  express  this  progress  by  a  curve  of  development,  our 
climax  would  be  the  crest  of  the  wave,  with  the  line  of  descent 
sharper  than  that  of  ascent,  yet  governed  in  its  direction 
through  every  point  of  the  curve  from  its  beginning.  Fran- 
cisque  Sarcey  used  the  admirable  term  scenes  a  faire,  which 
indicates  the  organic  consistency  with  which  this  curve  of 
drama  is  drawn.  For  if  the  playwright  has  clearly  conceived 
the  central  plan  of  his  play,  and  has  definitely  fashioned  in 
his  mind  the  characteristics  of  his  chief  dramatis  persona?, 
there  are  some  scenes  which  enter  his  calculations  whether 
he  will  or  not,  which  are  essential  to  the  understanding  of 
the  story  and  to  the  development  of  the  central  figures. 

Sometimes  our  American  dramatist  blinds  himself  to  this 
necessary  consistency,  since  it  demands  rigorous  workman 
ship  and  clear  ideas;  sometimes  he  is  unable  to  cope  with 
such  close,  logical  technique.  This  is  true  of  most  attempts 
to  convert  novels  into  dialogue  for  the  stage;  the  effort  is 
to  externalize  the  important  scenes  in  the  book,  which  may 
hap  have  been  blue-pencilled  by  the  manager  or  his  reader 
as  the  situations  most  desired  for  a  commercial  success; 
or  those  extrances  and  exits  are  selected  that  will  best  suit 
the  limitations  of  a  particular  actor. 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  drama  has,  throughout  its  history, 
been  written  for  the  stage,  a  definition  should  include  certain 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY    21 

expression  of  the  truth  that  drama  is  intended  for  representa 
tion.  Theory  will  never  make  the  dramatist;  a  few  principles 
will  not  construct  a  play.  Shakespeare  knew  his  playhouse; 
Sophocles  recognized  the  helpfulness  of  scenery ;  every  world- 
renowned  dramatist  has  been  brought  into  close  relation 
with  the  theatrics  of  his  profession.  And  though  there  are 
conventions  for  every  age,  conventions  which  modify  the 
form  and  affect  the  physical  outlines  of  the  theatre  itself, 
from  the  playhouse  of  Shakespeare  and  Moliere  to  that  of 
Clyde  Fitch  and  Augustus  Thomas,  the  dynamic  quality 
of  drama  remains  constant.  It  must  appeal  to  the  crowd. 
This  is  as  unfailing  in  exaction  for  the  American  dramatist 
as  it  was  for  the  ancient  Greek. 

Fine  distinctions  can  never  be  rigorously  formulated 
and  applied  to  drama.  We  cannot  go  to  the  theatre  with  a 
head  full  of  principles,  and  attempt  to  base  every  turn  of 
emotion,  every  technicality  of  structure,  upon  an  axiom  or 
a  psychological  formula  from  a  theatrical  text-book.  The 
point  cannot  be  sharply  defined  where  comedy  flows  into 
tragedy,  or  where  tragedy  fades  into  comedy,  even  though 
the  distinctions  made  by  Aristotle  in  the  "  Poetics  "*are  clear 
in  mind. 

Hence,  in  our  pliable  definition  of  drama,  we  may  consider 
the  form  and  substance  to  be  the  imitation  of  a  particular 
action  which  should  be  accounted  for  from  its  beginning  to  its 
end,  in  a  style  consistent  with  its  emotional  color,  and  which 
is  destined,  through  the  medium  of  the  artist,  to  awaken  in 
others  a  feeling  of  sympathy  or  repulsion.  In  the  phrase, 
"emotional  color,"  we  have  the  motive  of  the  dramatist, 
prompting  him  to  write  the  play;  the  motive  of  the  manager 
in  selecting  the  play  for  his  theatre;  and  the  motives  of  the 
audiences  in  coming.  The  emotional  value  awakens  the 
desire;  it  is  the  awakening  that  determines  the  moral,  the 
educative  effect  of  drama  in  a  community. 


22  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Perhaps  this  may  sound  speculative,  yet  it  involves  the 
practical  elements  at  the  basis  of  the  theatre.  So  far,  we  may 
say  that  all  modern  drama  can  be  judged  by  these  elements. 
But  such  a  definition  as  we  have  here  constructed  only  affords 
us  a  framework  upon  which  to  trace  the  pattern  of  a  national 
art,  as  well  as  of  an  art  in  general.  Dramatic  history  indicates 
that  America  and  England  have  practically  come  under  the 
same  dramatic  influences;  it  will  reveal  the  fact  that  while 
in  London,  Robertson  and  Boucicault  and  Clement  Scott 
were  making  a  livelihood  by  filching  French  plays  and  in 
fusing  English  sentiment  into  them,  New  York  was  being 
subject  to  the  same  thing  under  the  regime  of  Augustin  Daly. 

The  American  playwright,  in  view  of  this  situation,  had 
for  a  long  while  to  fight  against  managerial  prejudice  which 
was  in  favor  of  the  foreign  market.  The  general  rule  was 
that  American  successes  were  practically  successes  of  Eng 
lish  dramatists.  This  distrust  of  native  talent  was  to  be 
deplored,  but  it  was  well  grounded.  For,  in  America,  tech 
nical  training  was  not  particular  at  the  outteet.  Our  young 
playwrights  mistook  curiosity  for  interest,  nbise  for  action, 
and  relied  for  effect  on  variety  rather  than  on  consistency, 
on  external  antics  of  the  dramatis  personce  rather  than  on 
outward  action  as  governed  by  mental  state  or  social  con 
dition.  America  is  so  large,  territorially,  that  we  seek  for 
sectional  types  and  details  of  life,  while  in  England  the 
dramatic  author  pays  more  attention  to  unity  of  conception 
and  technique  —  a  unity  that  will  sacrifice  artifice,  however 
effective,  for  the  sake  of  truth.  But  it  is  usually  English 
truth. 

There  are  very  definite  reasons  why  Bronson  Howard  is 
rightfully  considered  the  Dean  of  American  Drama  —  a 
rightful  title  according  to  seniority,  but  more  especially 
because  of  his  fight  in  the  seventies  and  eighties  for  American 
interests  in  American  drama  for  the  American  people.  Not 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY  23 

that  drama  of  any  kind,  if  it  fulfill  the  requirements  of 
drama,  will  fail  to  grip  us  wherever  we  are,  but  as  citizens 
of  a  body  politic  we  have  our  separate  interests  to  consider. 

Americans,  as  we  have  suggested,  are  characterized  by 
their  directness;  they  are  quick,  decisive,  and  almost  blunt 
in  conversation;  they  are  practically  imaginative  at  the 
present,  and  that  is  why  their  inventions  fill  the  market. 
Their  emotions  are  large,  and  their  sympathies  are  easily 
appealed  to.  The  controlling  factor  in  their  make-up  is 
a  sense  of  humor  —  not  so  subtle  as  the  English,  but 
more  good-humored.  Daniel  Frohman  once  said  that  the 
Germans  talked  their  plays,  while  the  Americans  acted 
theirs.  This  is  another  essential  of  drama:  constant  move 
ment  —  a  characteristic  which  is  typical  of  American  life. 

The  difference  between  British  and  American  drama  is 
the  difference  between  the  London  Times  amd  the  New 
York  Herald.  What  we  find  in  our  morning  paper,  we  are 
most  apt  to  find  again  in  our  evening  play.  The  life  of  the 
West  is  the  melodrama  of  the  East.  These  seemingly  face 
tious  statements  are  not  far  from  the  truth.  Yet  there  can 
be  found  no  definite  tendency  in  American  drama  of  the 
present,  for  the  simple  reason  that  there  is  no  well-defined 
philosophy  of  American  life.  We  have  just  waked  up  to  the 
fact  that  in  our  own  country,  richness  of  humanity  is  as 
plentiful  as  elsewhere.  We  draw  from  our  history,  especially 
from  the  Civil  War  period,  but  have  not  sufficiently  pene 
trated  the  social  life  of  these  vital  times  to  create  any  per 
manent  historical  drama.  James  A.  Herne's  "Griffith 
Davenport"  —  the  only  manuscript  of  which  was  burned  in 
a  fire  which  totally  destroyed  the  family  homestead,  "  Herne 
Oaks,"  —  was  the  finest  example  of  a  war  play  treated  in 
spirit,  rather  than  in  martial  action.  Clyde  Fitch's  "Bar 
bara  Frietchie"  may  be  termed  a  quasi-war  play  only; 
William  Gillette's  "Secret  Service,"  well  constructed  and 


24  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

atmospheric,  is  superior  to  Bronson  Howard's  "  Shenandoah  " 
both  in  verity  and  in  story  interest;  Belasco's  "The  Heart 
of  Maryland"  is  more  melodramatically  striking  than 
William  DeMille's  "The  Warrens  of  Virginia."  Yet  all  of 
these  fail  to  grasp  the  essential  conditions  of  the  period. 

In  our  literary  deluge  of  the  past  and  present,  we  are  able 
to  point  only  to  a  few  products  that  have  etched  deep  upon 
the  page  the  very  fibre  of  national  and  sectional  life.  I  always 
like  to  mention  as  being  in  the  same  class,  Hawthorne's 
"The  Scarlet  Letter,"  Frank  Norris's  "The  Octopus,"  James 
Lane  Allen's  "The  Reign  of  Law,"  and  Ellen  Glasgow's  "The 
Deliverance."  Each  one  of  these  deals  with  something 
psychologically  large;  each  impresses  us  with  the  undoubted 
fact  that  the  situations,  as  well  as  the  spiritual  and  physical 
development  of  the  characters,  are  dependent  on  the  soil 
which  nurtured  them.  We  have  not  as  yet  produced  drama 
of  this  character.  William  Vaughn  Moody's  "The  Great 
Divide,"  effective  though  it  proved  to  be  theatrically,  was 
a  false  imitation  of  the  method. 

There  is  in  this  country  a  deep  interest  in  the  drama  of 
condition.  But  in  satisfying  this  interest,  the  playwright 
must  see  that  he  does  not  lose  grip  on  the  essentials  of  all 
drama.  He  must  view  action  from  its  logical  outcome  to 
its  logical  conclusion.  However  local  he  is,  the  underlying 
force  must  be  a  motive  that  is  human,  that  knows  no  local 
restriction. 

Thus,  the  essentials  of  an  American  play  are  subject  to 
most  of  the  conditions  which  apply  to  the  development  of 
English,  French,  or  German  drama.  But  temperament  is 
colored  in  subtle  manner;  heredity  plays  a  part;  tradition, 
environment,  mental  training,  spiritual  guidance,  social 
demands,  —  all  leave  their  impress  upon  individual  life, 
hence,  upon  the  individual  dramatist.  There  undoubtedly 
is  such  a  thing  as  American  citizenship,  apart  from  its 


WILLIAM  VAUGHN  MOODY 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY    25 

political  significance.  The  essential  factor,  therefore,  is  to 
determine  whether  or  not  the  artisan  is  a  true  playwright; 
whether  he  understands  drama,  or  whether  he  has  a  false 
idea  of  its  organic  character.  To  obtain  the  best  out  of  dra 
matic  condition,  we  must  create  a  body  of  dramatic  criti 
cism  strong  enough  to  establish  a  wholesome  attitude  toward 
our  amusement.  For  in  our  desire  to  create  a  national 
dramatic  literature,  we  must  not  forget  that  it  is  far  more 
important  to  be  true  to  life  than  to  be  true  to  locality.  If 
the  dramatist,  of  whatever  country,  view  life  deeply,  sin 
cerely,  and  fully,  his  background  will  of  its  own  accord 
assume  its  proper  position  in  the  picture.  And  he  will  more 
assuredly  find  himself  the  author  of  a  successful  play. 


Ill 

The  spirit  of  unrest  is  not  only  evident  in  social  matters, 
but  in  our  amusements  as  well.  We  are  playing  with  public 
taste  without  any  aim  to  our  guns,  and  out  of  this  has  come 
only  novelty.  What  we  need  is  the  establishment  of  a  school 
of  playwrights,  prompted  by  some  large  impetus.  If  there 
be  originality  at  all  on  our  American  stage,  it  comes  to  us 
from  abroad,  and  is  colored  by  foreign  ideals.  The  motive 
power  of  drama  to-day  is  not  native  born;  we  in  America 
follow  and  imitate,  or  we  try  to  counteract  the  moral  tense 
ness  of  continental  drama  by  the  gaiety  and  glitter  of  musical 
comedy. 

It  cannot  be  expected  that  our  stage  would  be  the  first 
to  offer  what  our  American  literature  has  scarcely  supplied 
—  a  body  of  ideas  sufficiently  strong  to  incite  or  to  modify 
public  opinion,  as  Galsworthy's  "  Justice  "  wakened  England. 
One  cannot  refrain  from  saying  that,  apart  from  a  small 
number  of  American  dramatists,  most  of  those  authors 
writing  for  the  stage  are  prompted  by  nothing  more  impelling 


26  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

than  the  tempting  royalty  returns.  That  is  why  novelists 
wrongly  whip  themselves  into  dramatists.  They  are  alive 
to  sensation  as  the  reporter  is  alive,  and  curiously  they  lose 
their  literary  sense  of  values.  They  are  keen  after  a  story, 
but  the  narrative  quality  is  not  much  above  that  of  the 
average  ten-cent  magazine.  Though  they  would  be  the  first 
to  disclaim  it,  they  are  nothing  more  than  melodramatists, 
riot  in  the  exaggerated  sense  of  Eighth  Avenue,  but  in  the 
realistic  sense  of  the  modern  novel. 

Since  this  is  the  condition,  since  theatrical  business  is 
increasing  without  a  corresponding  increase  in  the  authority 
of  the  playwright,  we  may,  with  some  reason,  despair  of 
public  taste  as  it  concerns  the  stage.  Where  are  we  tending 
in  our  home  product,  aided  or  injured,  as  you  will,  by  the 
commercial  theatre?  For,  strange  to  say,  though  our  women's 
clubs  throughout  the  country  are  actively  studying  modern 
drama  as  a  product  of  social  and  intellectual  forces,  they  are 
not  able  .to  apply  the  ideas  of  Sudermann  or  Hauptmann 
to  their  own  experience,  save  in  so  far  as  the  plays  are 
sexual. 

This  is  unhealthy;  it  detaches  the  theatre  from  its  ethical 
purpose;  it  attempts  to  force  condition  to  adapt  itself  to 
an  imported  morality.  In  some  respects  we  cannot  call  it 
a  wrong  morality;  in  other  respects  we  know  it  is  harmful 
and  abnormal.  Most  of  our  dramatic  hysteria  is  a  result  of 
this  detached  appreciation  of  problems  that  do  not  concern 
us,  since  they  come  under  the  jurisdiction  of  a  different 
social  law.  We  Americans  can  never  fully  understand  the 
Gallic  spirit  for  this  reason.  Emerson  and  Maeterlinck  are 
of  the  same  spiritual  piece,  but  Maeterlinck  came  from 
Emerson.  Our  adjustment  of  family  life  is  so  different  from 
that  of  the  French  that  Bourget  seems  wholly  inadequate, 
so  far  as  general  impress  is  concerned.  So  it  was  with  Ibsen 
when  he  was  a  "fad,"  for  only  our  New  England  women 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY    27 

could  quite  know  the  terrors  of  a  social  conscience,  and  only 
our  farmers'  wives  and  daughters  could  be  said  to  resemble 
in  their  brooding  some  of  Ibsen's  heroines. 

What  I  wish  to  emphasize  is  that  at  the  present  time 
there  is  no  absolute  force  moulding  our  theatre  into  distinct 
form  or  purpose,  or  directing  either  the  actor,  the  playwright, 
or  the  public.  When  we  are  serious,  then  we  become  imi 
tators,  and  grow  excessive  in  our  desire  to  be  thought  extreme 
and  powerful.  A  system  of  philosophy  does  not  follow  from 
reflected  light;  a  Magda  cannot  be  evolved  from  an  atmos 
phere  in  no  way  warm  to  receive  her. 

We  are  splashing  around  in  a  rich  sea  of  American  human 
ity,  and  we  do  not  know  how  to  swim  with  the  strong  current. 
We  either  look  across  the  water  where  they  are  really  crea 
ting  a  body  of  ideas  for  the  stage,  or  else  we  turn  back  as 
Carleton  did  in  "Memnon,"  as  Conrad  did  in  "Jack  Cade," 
or  as  Boker  did  in  nearly  all  of  his  dramas,  to  history,  romance 
and  myth.  If  we  mention  American  history,  we  stop  just  at 
the  point  where  we  should  begin.  Condition  is  only  one 
phase  of  native  character;  it  has,  nevertheless,  so  far  modi 
fied  human  action  as  to  stamp  the  American  with  outward 
and  evident  characteristics.  This  is  seen  in  Frank  Norris's 
novels,  and  in  the  sectional  literary  differences  between  the 
North  and  the  South.  Newspaper  condition,  i.  e.,  as  the 
American  newspaper  sees  American  condition,  is  the  one 
original  note  in  our  theatre. 

But  it  is  not  so  original  as  it  is  familiar  and  near  to  our 
own  experience.  That  is  the  one  hope  of  the  mediocre  activ 
ity  of  the  American  playwright.  There  is  more  verse  being 
written  in  this  country  than  ever  before,  but  it  is  not  poetry. 
Yet  the  increase  in  jingle  poets  at  least  indicates  a  poetic 
tendency.  So  is  it  with  drama;  we  are  writing  plays  every 
where,  but  even  as  the  inexperienced  poet  wrote  verses  to 
a  nightingale,  which  is  never  seen  in  America  save  at  a  public 


28  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

aviary,  so  the  playwright  seeks  everywhere  but  in  himself 
for  the  material  he  wishes. 

There  was  a  time  when  Schiller  and  Kotzebue  influenced 
the  American  stage;  there  was  another  time  when  Scribe, 
Hugo,  and  Dumas  became  the  models.  Then  there  arrived 
Wallack  and  Daly,  who,  as  theatrical  managers,  did  no 
jot  of  service  to  the  American  playwright,  until  Bronson 
Howard,  the  Dean  of  our  American  dramatists,  insisted 
upon  being  measured  on  his  own  merits.  Yet,  American 
though  he  was  in  interest  and  intention,  Mr.  Howard  was 
saturated  with  French  technique,  and  with  French  problems 
of  infidelity. 

I  know  of  no  American  drama,  based  on  imitation,  that 
has  not  failed  in  both  respects  —  to  be  American  and  to 
be  drama.  And  the  reason  why  we  lack  direction  is  that 
while  we  have  had  political  crises,  social  upheavals,  and 
economic  laws,  we  have  never,  save  in  the  days  of  extreme 
Puritanism,  had  spiritual  struggle. 

American  life  is  identified  with  outward  show  and  sign; 
in  that  respect  we  have  American  drama.  All  of  our  insti 
tutions  are  figuring  on  the  stage:  Charles  Klein  periodically 
and  in  superficial  manner,  muck-rakes  a  corporation.  That 
is  sheer  journalism.  There  must  be  something  within  a  man 
so  firmly  connected  with  his  soil  —  not  with  his  nationality 
—  that  if  it  were  severed,  all  the  life-blood  of  his  conviction 
would  turn  anaemic.  We  lack  conviction,  we  are  anaemic  on 
our  stage,  and  it  were  well  to  seek  a  remedy. 

In  England,  there  is  a  school  of  drama  which  attempts  to 
supply  a  stage  play,  measured  according  to  literary  standards; 
in  Ireland,  there  is  evident  an  impulse  which  may  result 
also  in  a  powerful  and  distinctive  school.  But  usually  a 
type  of  dramatic  expression  comes  from  the  workshop  of 
one  man,  individualistic  enough  in  his  message,  alive  enough 
in  his  intentness,  to  override  the  limitation  of  his  culture 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY    29 

and  to  be  affected  by  his  contemporaries  or  by  his  reading. 
Ibsen  lured,  as  the  Rat-Wife  lured  Eyolf,  and  everyone  mis 
took  his  realism  for  an  abortion,  when,  in  reality,  it  was 
strong  with  moral  and  social  purpose.  Both  he  and  Tolstoy 
strove  for  good,  honest  ends  —  the  one  thoroughly  consis 
tent,  the  other  contradictory;  and  both  victims  of  their 
own  self-scourging. 

Not  one  of  our  little  writers  for  the  theatre  to-day  has 
that  set  purpose,  that  moral  steadfastness.  For  our  drama 
does  not  come  from  within.  It  is  something  tangible;  it 
is  raw  life-stuff  (our  great  hope)  needing  the  craftsman  and 
the  seer. 

IV 

It  may  almost  be  stated  as  an  aphorism  that  the  critical 
faculty  is  usually  in  advance  of  the  creative  faculty.  What 
ever  a  man  does,  as  exemplification  of  his  theory,  is  never  an 
exact  illustration  of  it;  there  is  always  a  rift  in  the  armor 
of  accomplishment.  So  it  is  that  we  find  Ibsen's  realism 
falling  at  times  into  well-planned  theatricalism ;  Maeter 
linck's  static  drama  giving  way  to  the  full-blooded  passion 
of  "Monna  Vanna;"  Shaw's  prefaces  surpassing  his  plays 
in  truth  and  application;  Jones'  "Renascence  of  the  English 
Drama"  a  clearer  arraignment  of  English  conventions 
than  any  of  his  dramas. 

This  means  that  the  critical  faculty  prepares  the  way, 
and  whenever  a  dramatist  wishes  to  clear  his  mind  of  ob 
scurity,  he  falls  into  expressions  of  opinion  which  usually 
take  form  in  lectures,  talks,  or  interviews.  Only  last  May, 
Brieux  delivered  himself  of  a  long  discourse  before  the  Aca 
demic  Fran£aise,  not  upon  technique  which  marks  such  a 
piece  as  "Les  Trois  Filles  de  M.  Dupont,"  but  upon  the  ten 
derness  of  "L'Abbe  Constantin"  and  its  romantic  author. 
Not  that  a  dramatist  repudiates  his  theories,  his  tastes,  his 


30  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

critical  aim,  when  he  comes  to  write,  but  his  critical  purpose 
has  to  be  made  subservient  to  the  essential  purpose  of  the 
theatre. 

I  have  often  thought  how  healthy,  how  almost  juvenile 
the  American  dramatist  is  in  his  appreciation  of  external 
opportunities;  how  willing  he  is  to  set  himself  any  difficult 
mechanical  task  for  accomplishment  on  the  stage.  David 
Belasco  is  such  a  craftsman.  But  with  this  creative  exuber 
ance  has  arisen  the  need  for  analyzing  what  this  big  American 
life  really  means  for  stage  purposes,  how  it  may  be  used  so 
as  to  represent  the  storm  and  stress  of  material  growth,  with 
out  destroying  the  idealism  which  is  the  heritage  of  every 
nation,  and  more  especially  a  young  one.  Many  play 
wrights  have  expressed  their  views  to  me,  and  each  one  of 
them  has  advanced  beyond  his  practice  and  has  preached 
excellently  well. 

I  always  found  Bronson  Howard  to  be  twice  the  American 
as  man  that  he  was  as  playwright.  "One  of  Our  Girls," 
"  Saratoga,"  "  Kate,"  are  all  French  moulds  containing  stray 
flecks  of  native  dialogue.  From  what  I  know  of  New  York 
society  drama  at  the  time  they  were  written,  this  was  the 
entertainment  most  acceptable  to  the  theatre  public.  But 
their  spirit  was  hardly  as  Mr.  Howard  felt  personally  about 
American  drama  —  how  it  should  deal  specifically  with 
American  conditions  and  with  American  types. 

Of  all  our  dramatists,  James  A.  Herne  may  be  said  to 
have  come  nearest  to  the  soil,  doing  as  much  for  the  theatre 
as  ever  W.  D.  Howells  has  done  for  literature.  Yet,  after 
he  had  tried  some  keen-edged  realism  in  "Margaret  Fleming" 
and  some  evenly-balanced  history  in  "Griffith  Davenport," 
he  was  obliged  to  compromise  with  his  public,  and  to  encase 
his  simple  motives  and  his  poignantly  simple  emotions  in  a 
melodramatic  setting.  But  even  then  he  did  not  forsake  his 
critical  theory;  he  held  to  the  natural  method  of  dialogue, 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY    31 

hewing  out  of  native  character  what  later  and  lesser  dram 
atists  hewed  out  of  a  half-understanding  of  Ibsen.  It  is  a 
strange  instance,  this,  of  Mr.  Herne's  sensing  Ibsen  before 
his  day.  Yet,  though  in  a  way  he  could  not  practice  what 
he  preached,  James  A.  Herne  continued  to  preach,  and  his 
statements  in  lectures  and  interviews  are  in  advance  of  his 
actual  stage  work.  And  his  distinctions  were  always  un 
erringly  ethical.  "  If  a  disagreeable  truth,"  he  wrote,  "  is  not 
also  an  essential,  it  should  never  be  used  in  art."  Mr.  Herne 
realized  certain  didactic  touches  in  "Margaret  Fleming," 
but  he  felt  his  manner  of  characterization  was  right.  It  was 
simply  ahead  of  its  time,  and  only  the  critical  outlook  can 
travel  so  far.  That  is  why  "Shore  Acres"  followed  rather 
than  preceded  "Margaret  Fleming." 

Now,  there  is  one  essential  our  American  dramatist  has 
fully  realized  —  that  the  stage  must  have  action  and  depict 
a  human  story.  From  American  life  he  has  learned  the  one, 
since  its  chief  characteristic  is  movement;  and  from  the 
American  newspaper  he  has  gleaned  the  other,  since  the 
motive  power  of  our  journalism  is  the  scare-line  which  tells 
something  at  a  glance.  In  a  democracy,  the  man  who  studies 
his  public  as  he  rides  downtown  in  the  cars  will  find  it  difficult 
to  reach  any  collective  point  of  view  of  the  crowd.  He  finds, 
if  he  is  writing  a  play,  that  no  theory  of  his  will  transcend 
the  popular  test  of  all  successful  drama:  does  it  get 
across  the  "foots,"  does  it  appeal  to  the  heart,  does  it 
interest? 

This  applies  to  all  types  of  drama  for  all  types  of  people. 
It  holds  good  for  all  quality  of  amusement  at  the  theatre. 
For  beneath  the  cuticle  of  culture,  we  are  all  akin;  the  ele 
mental  make-up  of  emotion  is  the  same  for  all;  only  the 
method  of  expressing  this  emotion  differs.  While  he  was 
at  the  height  of  his  melodrama  days,  Owen  Davis  —  always 
more  or  less  a  student  of  the  peculiar  clientele  he  had  for 


32  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

"Nellie,  the  Beautiful  Cloak  Model"  and  "Convict  999"  — 
came  from  studying  his  audiences  with  this  conclusion: 

"I  soon  found  that  humanity  was  the  key-note  of  their 
interest;  that  the  elemental  passions  appealed  to  under  a 
coating  of  sugar  by  the  Broadway  dramatist  were  the 
same  as  those  aroused  by  the  Third  Avenue  playwright  with 
out  the  coating.  In  all  plays,  whether  given  in  the  two- 
dollar  houses,  or  in  the  less  imposing  ten-twenty-thirty  cent 
places  of  amusement,  there  must  be  at  bottom  some  big 
dominant  human  emotion.  On  Broadway  you  must  hide 
the  springs  that  move  your  puppets  —  and  be  subtle,  moving 
toward  your  climax  circuitously." 

So  it  was  that  Owen  Davis,  graduate  from  Harvard,  laid 
aside  his  theories,  and,  determined  in  the  type  of  "thriller" 
wanted  of  him,  made  a  success  of  his  venture.  Only  now  is 
he  beginning  to  do  the  serious  work  which  he  has  aimed  to 
do  for  many  years;  but  his  critical  faculty  showed  him  which 
way  Al  Woods  was  developing.  And  as  long  as  five  years 
ago  he  predicted  that  "Chinatown  Charlie"  would  be  for 
saken  by  hordes  for  such  subtle  vulgarity  as  "The  Girl  in 
the  Taxi." 

A  man's  reach  should  exceed  his  grasp,  and  there  is  no 
doubt  that  there  are  high  planes  of  aspiration  among  all]  our 
dramatists.  Like  Jones,  who  first  wrote  "The  Silver  King" 
—  arrant  melodrama  —  before  he  felt  justified  in  dealing 
with  problems,  they  speak  in  broad,  and  always  in  com 
parative  terms,  regarding  American  drama,  and  they  show 
very  well  their  fears  and  pride. 

It  was  a  long  while  before  Charles  Klein  was  received  by 
his  public  as  a  critic  of  American  condition,  even  though 
years  before  the  advent  of  "  The  Lion  and  the  Mouse,"  "  The 
Third  Degree,"  and  "The  Gamblers,"  he  had  written  "The 
District  Attorney"  and  "The  Honorable  John  Grigsby." 
Not  many  readers  identify  his  name  as  the  librettist  for  "  El 


Photo,   by  Otto  Sarony  Co. 


CHARLES  KLEIN 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY    33 

Capitan"  and  "Red  Feather,"  yet  he  had  to  relinquish  his 
ideas  for  a  while  in  order  to  pave  the  way  for  popular  au 
thority  to  state  them. 

Many  talks  with  Mr.  Klein  only  impressed  me  more  and 
more  with  the  fact  that  even  an  undisciplined  critical  per 
spective  tends  beyond  the  point  where  it  would  be  expe 
dient  to  practice.  Mr.  Klein's  philosophy  of  life  is  much 
clearer  in  his  conversation  than  in  his  plays.  Maybe,  as 
he  says,  the  public  obtains  in  these  plays  of  his  a  point  of 
view  that  filters  through  his  individuality.  "That  there  is 
an  American  drama,"  he  once  said  to  me,  "  is  as  certain  as 
that  there  is  an  American  life.  But  we  are  in  the  process  of 
adjustment;  we  have  reached  and  are  in  the  experimental 
stage.  Our  drama  is  forming.  In  the  near  future,  there  will 
arise  a  social  conflict;  and  the  East  will  struggle  with  the 
West.  From  this  opposition,  a  great  drama  will  be  born." 

But  Mr.  Klein  in  his  social  and  economic  history  is  rather 
undisciplined.  "The  Lion  and  the  Mouse"  and  "The 
Gamblers"  show  this.  The  critical  faculty  must  have  a  care 
how  far  it  goes  without  intellectual  justification.  Unwar 
ranted  statements  from  our  dramatists,  such  as  fill  the 
daily  press,  show  the  need  for  a  body  of  ideas  that  are  more 
sanely  optimistic.  I  shall  try  to  epitomize  Mr.  Klein's 
critical  outlook  as  concisely  and  as  faithfully  as  possible. 

"  It  is  true  that  the  public  wishes  psychology,"  he  declared, 
"but  no  half-lights;  that  is  Ibsen's  treatment.  There  is 
much  melodrama  in  life,  but  not  all  of  it  is  the  conflict  of 
violent  emotion.  We  often  see  the  effects  without  the  causes, 
but  the  American  mind,  to  be  convinced,  must  have  both. 
Mellow  light,  mere  shadowgraph,  will  not  convince.  That 
is  partly  the  reason  Bernard  Shaw's  influence,  to  my  mind, 
is  negative;  he  tears  down  ideals  without  building,  and  his 
ruthlessness  results  in  reaction.  The  denial  of  a  higher 
truth  always  creates  disgust. 


34  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

"  Both  Shaw  and  Ibsen  only  tell  half-truths.  To  be  an 
incomparable  technician  is  not  everything,  but  whereas  Ibsen 
assails  what  we  hold  in  abhorrence,  Shaw  turns  to  what  is 
sacred.  Goethe  dubbed  Mephistopheles  'the  spirit  of 
negation/  but  it  takes  a  fairly  good  comedian  to  wear  a 
Mephistopheles'  make-up.  I  cannot  believe  that  a  man, 
like  Shaw,  who  denies  everything,  from  pure  love  to  pure 
music,  is  a  public  beneficence;  only  the  man  who  affirms 
what  is  good  tells  the  whole  truth." 

When  a  dramatist  talks  aloud  in  this  fashion,  he  is  in  a  way 
sending  out  that  part  of  him  which  in  stage  dialogue  might 
be  considered  didactic.  One  may  dare  much  in  criticism; 
it  is  supposed  to  question  art  in  terms  of  far- vision;  it  is 
supposed  to  weigh  causes  in  the  light  of  far-reaching  effects. 
That  is  where  the  constructive  ability  of  the  critic  gives  him 
claim  to  imagination  of  a  high  creative  order.  It  represents 
the  impulse  back  of  the  writer  —  the  impulse  to  be  a  good 
citizen.  For  the  dramatist,  above  all  other  professional  and 
artistic  persons,  must  be  a  strong,  virile  citizen. 

"  In  American  life/'  Mr.  Klein  continued,  "  the  important 
feature  is  to  emulate,  to  imitate.  Everyone  is  striving  to  be 
rich;  in  the  instinct,  in  the  will  to  be  rich,  we  surely  find  the 
great  dramatic  action.  This  race  for  the  material  does  not 
bar  metaphysical  considerations.  Avarice  is  constantly  in 
conflict  with  principle,  with  drama  as  the  result,  since  drama 
always  spells  conflict.  Desire  in  American  condition  grapples 
with  obstructing  circumstances,  with  the  individual  as  the 
centre  of  the  vortex.  In  trying  to  express  these  thoughts  we 
all  have  to  resort  to  verbs  of  action. 

"A  condition  is  not  a  problem;  after  all,  it  is  only  a  con 
dition,  but  somewhere  in  it  is  the  conflict.  If  the  dramatist 
portray  the  condition,  drama  is  the  outward  expression  of 
his  views.  The  American  public  is  guided  by  instinct  along 
the  lines  of  optimism.  We  are  in  process  of  adjustment  with 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  PLAY    35 

the  classes.  Some  day  the  English  will  undoubtedly  undergo 
a  readjustment,  but  now  they  are  presumably  fixed.  The 
very  fact  that  we  Americans  are  finding  ourselves,  constitutes 
drama.  The  American  tragedy  lies  in  the  fact  that  we  can 
not  find  what  we  want;  the  English  people  have  realized 
that  what  they  have  found  is  empty.  Our  greatest  tragedy 
will  be  when  we  wake  up  to  the  truth  that  our  illusions  are 
illusions.  In  fact,  the  tragedy  of  the  whole  world,  a 
tragedy  wherein  the  element  of  hope  is  seen  in  the  very  fact 
that  we  search  for  something  higher,  is  the  almost  dis 
couraging  effort  to  find  the  truth,  the  ideal.  Europe  is  de 
generating  in  moral  tone  because  she  has  no  hope.  I  glean 
from  Gibbon  that  when  sexual  instinct  absorbs  a  nation  as 
it  appears  to  absorb  France,  there  is  very  little  room  left 
for  the  development  of  any  other  instinct.  The  healthy 
part  of  us  is  that  the  American  mind  is  not  yet  so  absorbed." 

Now,  in  recording  these  views  of  Mr.  Klein's,  I  do  not 
wish  to  leave  the  impression  that  they  do  not  in  some  small 
way  appear  in  his  dramas.  I  give  them  as  the  unified  ex 
pression  of  the  average  American  interest  in  dramatic  con 
dition;  for  the  dramatist  does  not  have  to  be  a  student  of 
drama.  If  he  possesses  the  instinct,  if  he  keeps  in  touch  with 
the  theatre  conditions  around  him,  if  he  reads  and  sees  plays, 
that  is  all  he  needs.  Unconsciously,  he  senses  the  evolution 
of  form;  unconsciously  he  shapes  his  material  in  that  mould 
to  which  his  good  taste,  his  interest,  and  his  motive  lead 
him. 

But  the  dramatist,  if  he  is  anything  of  a  craftsman,  has 
to  know  something  more  than  the  mere  letter  of  his  trade. 
Though  he  never  use  economics,  sociology,  biology,  or  kin 
dred  subjects,  he  is  the  richer  for  a  knowledge  which  allows 
his  imagination  to  explore  in  fields  closed  to  untutored  minds. 
No  dramatist  in  his  play  can  say  —  such  shall  be  the  moral 
verdict,  such  shall  be  the  solution  of  poverty,  such  shall  be 


36  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

the  future  of  America.  But  the  critic  can  say  to  the  dramatist 
—  such  will  be  the  moral  verdict,  such  may  be  the  solution 
of  poverty,  such  tends  to  be  the  future  of  America  when 
you  come  to  it.  Our  drama  needs  knowledge  upon  which 
to  develop  a  rich  imagination. 


Photo,  by  Pack. 


KICHARD  HARDING  DAVIS 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  TREND  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA  FROM  1750  TO  1870 


THE  amusement  world  is  large  enough  to  foster  repertory 
houses,  for  America  cannot  afford  to  let  dramatic  material 
go  to  waste.  Certain  excellent  quality  in  the  satire  of 
Charles  Hoyt's  farces  should  be  rehabilitated,  and  there  is 
no  doubt  that  Edward  Harrigan's  Irish  fun  was  fraught  with  a 
genuineness  that  should  be  perpetuated.  Professor  Matthews 
once  spoke  of  Weber  and  Fields  and  their  products  as  the 
Aristophanes  period  of  American  drama,  yet  it  is  as  impos 
sible  to  perpetuate  the  peculiar  genius  of  these  two  as  to 
re-create  the  unctuousness  of  the  elder  Hackett,  the  geniality 
of  John  Gilbert,  or  the  humor  of  John  T.  Raymond. 

The  time  has  come  for  stock  companies;  these  institu 
tions  are  the  real  dramatic  storehouses  of  the  country.  But 
Daniel  Frohman,  in  his  "Memories  of  a  Manager/'  is  far 
from  believing  that  a  return  to  the  old-time  system  can  be 
effected.  Repertory  companies  reproduce  successes  of 
only  a  few  seasons  past,  like  Davis's  "  Soldiers  of  Fortune " 
and  Thomas's  "Arizona."  They  occasionally  take  stand 
ardized  plays,  like  Lottie  Blair  Parker's  "Way  Down  East" 
(1897)  or  "Under  Southern  Skies"  (1901),  and  like  C.  T. 
Dazey's  "In  Old  Kentucky,"  familiar  to  everyone.  In  the 
face  of  theatrical  circuits,  however,  audiences  are  more 
likely  to  want  the  success  of  the  season  immediately  past  — 
a  season  which  wins  for  the  play  the  headline  that  "it  ran 


38  THE   AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

for  one  hundred  and  fifty  consecutive  nights  in  New  York." 
Yet  such  advertising,  though  it  dupe  the  provincial  theatre 
goer,  is  not  always  true,  for,  as  pointed  out  in  a  pamphlet 
on  "The  Amusement  Situation  in  the  City  of  Boston,"1 
"hardly  a  bulletin-board  announcing  a  New  York  run  but 
brazenly  and  boldly  lies  about  its  extent.  Ten  or  twelve 
weeks  in  New  York  (several  of  which  were  very  probably  in 
Brooklyn  or  in  remotely  situated  theatres)  is  advertised  on 
the  road  as  'One  Year  in  New  York/  or  '300  Nights  on 
Broadway.'  A  season  of  thirty  weeks  (divided  among  the 
same  groups  of  theatres)  is  advertised  on  the  road  as  '  Seventy 
weeks  in  New  York/  or  '490  days  in  New  York.'  More 
conscientious  managers  actually  run  their  plays  in  the 
smaller  New  York  theatres  week  after  week  at  considerable 
loss  to  themselves,  in  order  to  get  some  excuse  for  sending 
them  upon  the  road  as  a  claimed  '  Broadway  Success/  with 
a  record  for  a  long  run!" 

I  quote  this  as  authentic  evidence  of  the  fact  that  with  the 
increase  of  theatrical  business,  the  road  has  either  become 
a  place  for  trying  out,  or  for  duping.  The  manager  peddles 
his  wares,  unless  he  has  no  wares  to  peddle;  then  he  falls 
back  upon  the  scrap  heap,  out  of  which  he  builds  himself 
a  repertory. 

These  stock  company  houses  are  good  things,  even  though 
they  tend  unmercifully  to  overwork  the  actor.  They  are 
excellent  measure  of  the  vitality  of  a  play,  and,  except  in 
the  instances  of  special  revivals,  they  are  the  only  havens 
where  the  theatre-goer  may  hope  to  keep  in  touch  with  the 

1  Based  on  a  study  of  the  theatres  for  ten  weeks,  from  Nov.  28, 
1909,  to  Feb.  5,  1910.  This  is  a  report  of  the  Drama  Committee 
of  the  Twentieth  Century  Club,  of  that  city.  The  theatre  receives 
social  treatment,  also,  in  a  more  pretentious  way,  in  a  pamphlet: 
"The  Exploitation  of  Pleasure:  A  Study  of  Commercial  Recrea 
tions  in  New  York  City,"  by  Michael  M.  Davis,  Jr.,  published  by 
the  Department  of  Child  Hygiene,  of  the  Russell  Sage  Foundation. 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  FROM   1750  TO   1870    39 

past.  When  the  New  Theatre  was  contemplating  the 
revival  of  a  few  old  American  dramas,  it  might  have  been 
well  had  the  Director  kept  his  eye  upon  these  repertory 
centres. 

It  would  seem,  to  go  a  step  further,  that  the  time  has 
even  arrived  for  us  to  renovate  some  of  the  popular  plays 
of  the  past.  Robson  and  Crane  became  noted  in  their  pro 
duction  of  Howard's  "The  Henrietta;"  and  "The  Young 
Mrs.  Winthrop,"  by  the  same  author,  still  has  appeal  and 
literary  flavor.  These  plays  are  old-fashioned — not  in  their 
plots,  not  in  their  essential  human  interest,  but  in  their 
contemporaneousness.  This  contemporaneousness  should 
be  made  contemporary,  unless  the  play  is  dependent  upon 
the  atmosphere  of  the  past. 

B.  E.  Woolfs  "The  Mighty  Dollar"  (1875),  with  literally 
"millions  in  it,"  used  to  draw  crowded  houses,  quite  as 
much  on  account  of  the  amusing  characteristics  of  Judge 
Bardwell  Slote,  M.C.,  from  Cohosh  district,  as  because  of 
the  acting  of  W.  J.  Florence.  Mulberry  Sellers,  the  famous 
vehicle  for  John  T.  Raymond,  made  Mark  Twain's  "The 
Gilded  Age" — a  play  with  ample  humor,  and  worth  reno 
vating.  Professor  Matthews,  always  ready  with  a  literary 
analogy,  would  connect  the  latter  play  with  Jonson's  "The 
Divill  is  an  Ass"  (1616).  Maybe  Mr.  Clemens  sought  to 
renovate  the  Elizabethans,  even  as  Colley  Gibber  rewrote 
Shakespeare,  but  there  is  enough  good  matter  in  Setters  to 
have  a  revival,  after  the  manuscript  has  been  adequately 
reinforced  by  a  skilled  craftsman. 

This  much  we  know:  that  there  are  no  available  copies 
of  "The  Mighty  Dollar"  or  of  "The  Gilded  Age,"  and  that 
they  should  be  in  type.  Their  historical  importance  lies 
in  the  attempt  they  made  to  create  the  American  for  the 
stage.  They  were  eccentric,  in  the  sense  that  Weber  and 
Fields  were  eccentric,  and  they  depended  largely  upon  the 


40  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST, 

genius  of  the  actor.  They  were  built  parts,  in  the  sense 
that  Dundreary,  under  the  fashioning  of  E.  A.  Sothern's 
nimble  wit,  was  a  growth  from  forty-seven  lines.  It  is  my 
belief  that  the  old-fashioned  conception  of  the  American 
would  be  as  amusing  to  present  generations  —  even  though 
out  of  date —  as  the  conventional  Englishman  in  Dundreary, 
which  was  revived  by  Sothern,  the  son.  But,  in  order  to 
retain  some  vestige  of  originality,  despite  the  evanescent 
character  of  much  of  the  dialogue,  it  should  be  made  incum 
bent  upon  the  author  or  the  producer  to  publish  the  play  as 
originally  conceived. 

It  may  be  claimed  with  justice  that  such  actors  as  Sothern, 
Irving,  Jefferson,  and  Mansfield  have  created  marvellous 
acting  parts;  but  there  is  much  doubt  as  to  whether  the 
public  of  the  older  generation  would  accept  Sothern's  son 
as  Dundreary,  Jefferson's  son  as  Rip  Van  Winkle,  and 
Irving's  son  as  Mathias  in  "  The  Bells."  They  are  commen 
dable  substitutes,  but  they  are  in  no  way  just  as  good. 
Even  now,  there  is  prejudice  in  the  minds  of  those  who  have 
seen  Booth,  as  though  lingering  memory  will  better  theat 
rical  condition!  Yet  one  cannot  discount  the  prejudices 
of  an  audience,  and  there  is  ample  cause  to  believe  that 
were  an  actor  to  play  "Beau  Brummel"  or  "A  Parisian 
Romance,"  ripe  upon  Mansfield's  death,  he  would  suffer 
in  comparison.  But  must  we,  because  of  a  prejudice,  sacri 
fice  plays  that  are  effective  theatrically,  whatever  the  time 
or  season?  There  is  life  in  all  success  —  for  success  comes 
from  general  approval,  and  the  public  heart  is  much  the 
same  always. 

I  am  speaking  entirely  of  dramas  that  in  their  day  have 
created  wonderful  theatrical  impressions.  There  is  only  one 
guide  a  manager  should  follow  in  the  matter  of  repertory: 
renovation  must  be  carried  on  in  the  light  of  modern  tech 
nique,  but  in  a  manner  wholly  consistent  with  the  tenor  of 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  FROM   1750  TO   1870    41 

the  piece.  Social  drama  is  constructed  on  the  Ibsen  pattern; 
therefore,  the  screws  must  be  tightened  throughout  "The 
Young  Mrs.  Winthrop,"  originally  modeled  on  Scribe.  The 
art  of  renovation  is  even  more  of  an  art  than  that  of  trans 
lation. 

This  suggestion  of  renovation  seems  both  startling  and 
humorous;  in  it  also  there  is  an  element  of  danger.  No  one 
wishes  to  see  a  modernized  Rembrandt,  and  for  my  part  I 
deplore  amended  Miltons  and  simplified  Scotts.  But  only 
in  an  art  which  is  fluid  would  I  consider  renovation.  For 
all  dramatists  know,  as  the  trite  saying  goes,  that  plays  are 
never  written;  that  they  are  rewritten.  And  they  might 
just  as  well  be  revamped  in  1911  as  in  1875.  Yet,  without 
the  sanction  of  the  playwright,  without  his  personal  super 
vision,  faith  must  be  kept  with  the  original,  and  that  original 
must  be  published. 

II 

If  one  should  be  asked,  however,  to  frame  a  list  of  Ameri 
can  plays  suitable  for  immediate  revival,  the  task  would  be 
disillusionizing.  For  it  would  show  that  previous  to  1870, 
the  larger  part  of  American  drama  only  had  interest  his 
torically  and  histrionically.  It  was  either  history  or  the 
actor  that  encouraged  native  product  —  a  product  cast  in 
foreign  mould  from  the  very  outset.1  The  way  of  reviewing 
the  past  in  American  drama  is  simply  to  assume  points  of 
view  that  will  accord  with  a  consistent  grouping  of  the  many 
plays.  The  tendencies  are  much  more  evident  and  jmuch 
more  distinctive  than  the  national  traits. 

For  the  very  earliest  theatrical  records  indicate  that  our 
very  earliest  audiences  were  accustomed  to  such  comedies 

1  For  consideration  of  the  stage  "To-day  and  Yesterday,"  see 
my  "Famous  Actor-Families  in  America." 


42  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

as  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "Rule  a  Wife  and  Have  a 
Wife,"  broad  in  humor  and  Elizabethan  in  diction.  In  fact, 
when  the  drama  first  came  to  America,  and  began  its  exist 
ence  at  the  Williamsburg  Theatre,  under  the  patronage  of  Gov 
ernor  Dinwiddie  (September  5,  1752),  American  civilization 
was  thoroughly  English.  If  the  drama  started  in  the  South, 
it  was  because  the  Cavalier  spirit  was  ready  to  receive  it, 
because  the  Southern  landed  proprietor,  a  devotee  of  Addi- 
son  and  Steele,  believed  in  the  luxury  of  living  rather  than 
in  making  constant  preparation  for  death.  The  drama 
forced  its  way  in  the  North,  despite  the  Puritan  prejudice  in 
New  England  and  the  Quaker  feeling  in  Philadelphia.  Yet 
we  cannot  quite  blame  the  qualms  of  the  latter  city  when  its 
first  theatre,  opened  on  April  15,  1754,  had  for  its  bill,Rowe's 
tragedy,  "The  Fair  Penitent."  Certain  it  was  that,  apart 
from  Shakespeare  Cibberized,  the  early  theatre-going  taste 
was  atune  to  Congreve  and  Farquhar,  while  the  glory  of 
Garrick  stamped  all  acting.1 

Our  first  historians  of  the  drama  record  amateur  perform 
ances  as  early  as  1749;  Otway  and  Addison  were  the 
favored  dramatists.  But  American  theatrical  enterprise 
started  with  William  Hallam,  whose  company  constituted 
the  first  real  "road"  organization.  This  history  applies 
strictly  to  the  rise  and  progress  of  the  theatre;  the  type  of 
play,  which  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  spirit  of 
America,  reflected  the  colonial  taste.  Some  people  there 
are  who  would  so  far  stretch  a  point  as  to  claim  that  for  a 
performance  of  Garrick's  farce,  "Lethe,"  a  prologue  was 
prepared,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  day,  and  that  this 

1  The  reader  is  referred  to  George  O.  Seilhamer's  invaluable 
"History  of  the  American  Theatre"  (1888);  to  Dunlap's  "History 
of  the  American  Theatre;"  to  Joseph  Ireland's  "Records  of  the 
New  York  Stage  from  1750  to  1860";  and  to  T.  Allston  Brown's 
"History  of  the  New  York  Stage  from  the  First  Performance  in 
1732  to  1901." 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  FROM   1750  TO  1870    43 

prologue  represents  the  first  bit  of  writing  done  in  America 
for  the  theatre.  I  do  not  believe  that  an  arduous  search 
through  the  provincial  columns  of  the  Pennsylvania  Gazette 
or  of  the  New  York  Post-boy  would  bring  to  light  any  hidden 
American  dramatist  before  Royall  Tyler  appeared  upon  the 
scene;  that  is,  one  whose  distinct  aim  was  to  display  the 
American  spirit. 

By  the  time  our  colonists  became  accustomed  to  "pro 
fane  stage  plays,"  the  controversial  period  of  American 
history  had  arrived,  and  when  the  British  reached  New 
York  and  Philadelphia,  they  turned  the  playhouses  to  their 
own  pleasure,  the  redcoats  becoming  actors  for  the  oc 
casion.  There  was  a  drop  curtain  in  existence  for  a  long 
while  after  the  Revolution,  which  tradition  claims  was 
painted  by  Major  Andre. 

In  our  search  for  dramatic  activity  in  America,  it  were 
well  to  dispose  in  a  word  of  certain  forms  of  writing  done 
for  the  stage.  Washington  was  an  inveterate  theatre-goer, 
and  when  the  Continental  Congress  closed  the  playhouses 
on  October  24,  1774,  he  was  very  much  perturbed.  So  that, 
after  his  death,  the  theatres  paid  him  a  tribute  by  having 
the  leading  actress,  "in  the  character  of  the  Genius  of 
America  weeping  over  the  Tomb  of  her  beloved  HERO," 
recite  "  A  Monody  on  the  Death  of  GENERAL  WASHINGTON." 
Certainly  we  cannot  in  any  way  regard  General  Burgoyne 
as  an  American  playwright,  even  though  his  farce,  "The 
Blockade  of  Boston,"  dealt  with  an  American  subject.  But 
this  farce  from  the  British  pen,  in  which  the  Continental 
Army  was  derided,  drew  from  Mrs.  Mercy  Warren  a  counter- 
thrust  in  "The  Blockheads,"  a  burlesque  polemic.1 

It  will  be  seen  from  such  entries  that  during  the  Revolu 
tion  the  theatre  was  a  place  for  satire,  smacking  of  oratory. 

1  See  "Beginnings  of  American  Dramatic  Literature,"  Paul 
Leicester  Ford,  New  Eng.  Mag.,  Feb.,  1894,  n.s.  9:  673-87. 


44  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

The  product  came  from  the  heat  of  the  moment.  One 
might  just  as  well  claim  that  the  references  to  America  in 
Chapman's  "Eastward  Hoe"  or  in  Shakespeare's  "The 
Tempest,"  or  that  Governor  Berkeley's  dramas  were  Ameri 
can,  as  that  these  controversial  pieces  were  either  plays  or, 
strictly  speaking,  American.  For  example,  Paul  Leicester 
Ford  points  to  "  The  Battle  of  Brooklyn,"  a  play  by  an  un 
known  author,  and,  despite  its  ridicule  of  Washington, 
doubts  whether  its  origin  is  British  or  American.  We 
find  many  expressions  concerning  the  fall  of  British  tyranny, 
and  as  early  as  1753,  one  Le  Blanc  de  Villeneuve  wrote  "  Le 
Pere  Indian."  We  find  the  students  of  Yale,  under  their 
ministerial  president,  presenting  Barnabas  Bidwell's  "The 
Mercenary  Match"  (1785).  In  another  direction,  an  ac 
tivity  strictly  modern  in  its  haste  has  been  noted  in  these 
words  by  the  historian,  Clapp:  "It  was  the  custom  in  the 
earlier  days  of  the  theatre  to  signalize  passing  events  by  such 
appropriate  notice  as  the  resources  of  the  stage  would  permit. 
The  proposed  launch  of  the  frigate  '  Constitution,'  which  was 
set  down  for  September  20,  1797,  was  regarded  by  Manager 
Hodgkinson  as  an  event  worthy  of  his  attention.  In  forty- 
eight  hours  he  completed  a  very  passable  piece,  and  an 
nounced  its  performance." 

These  several  records  will  show  that  the  first  definite 
tendency  to  note  in  American  drama  is  that  the  subject- 
matter,  when  it  drew  upon  American  life  and  manners, 
arranged  itself  in  accord  with  periods  in  American  history. 
There  were,  for  example,  definite  Indian  plays,1  some  smack- 

1  In  an  article  on  "The  American  Play,"  by  Laurence  Hutton 
(Lippincott,  37:  289-98,  March,  1886),  the  following  picturesque 
titles  are  recorded :  ' '  Sassacus ;  or,  The  Indian  Wife  " ;  "  Kairrissah ' ' ; 
"Oroloosa";  Outalassie";  "The  Pawnee  Chief";  "Onylda;  or, 
The  Pequot  Maid";  "Ontiata;  or,  The  Indian  Heroine";  "Osceola"; 
"Oroonoka";  "Tuscatomba";  "Wacousta";  "Tutoona";  "Yem- 
"Wissahickon."  See  also  A.  E.  Lancaster's  "Historical 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  FROM   1750  TO   1870    45 

ing  of  the  aboriginal.  But  to-day,  the  only  ones  that  strike 
the  memory  are  John  Brougham's  clever  "  Po-ca-hon-tas," 
John  Augustus  Stone's  "Metamora;  or,  The  Last  of  the 
Wampanoags,"  and  the  recent  attempt  made  by  Mary  Austin 
in  "The  Arrow  Maker."  There  were  Revolutionary  dramas, 
ranging  from  John  D.  Burke's  "Bunker  Hill;  or,  The  Death 
of  Gen.  Warren"  (1798)  and  Dunlap's  "Andre"'  (1798) 
to  W.  loor's  "  The  Battle  of  the  Eutaw  Springs,  and  Evac 
uation  of  Charleston;  or,  The  Glorious  14th  of  December, 
1782,"  first  presented  in  Charleston  during  1817.  The 
American  historical  plays  of  this  period  were  strictly  patri 
otic,  as  the  titles  will  imply;  they  were  heroic,  bombastic, 
and,  as  Lancaster  has  noted,  filled  with  "  romantic  traditions, 
local  annals,  individual  eccentricity,  temporary  sensation, 
spread-eagle  patriotism,  and  redskin  melodrama."  It  is 
enough  to  record  the  heroic  measures  of  Hugh  Henry  Brack- 
enridge's  "The  Battle  of  Bunker  Hill"  (1776),  or  the  same 
author's  dramatic  elegy  on  "The  Death  of  General  Mont 
gomery  at  the  Siege  of  Quebec"  (1777).  James  Nelson 
Barker  wrote  "The  Indian  Princess"  (1808)  and  "Super 
stition"  (1823),  and  M.  M.  Noah  tried  his  hand  at  "Marion; 
or,  The  Hero  of  Lake  George."  There  is  no  end  to  the  plays 
based  on  incidents  of  the  Revolution  or  of  the  War  of  1812.1 

American  Plays,"  Chautauquan,  31:  359-64  (1900).  James  Rees 
declares  that  the  reaction  against  Indian  plays  began  in  1846. 
G.  W.  P.  Custis  wrote  two  Indian  dramas:  "The  Indian  Prophecy" 
(1828)  and  "Pocahontas"  (1830). 

1  Note  for  example  C.  E.  Grice's  "The  Battle  of  New  Orleans"; 
George  Cookings'  "The  Conquest  of  Canada";  S.  B.  H.  Judah'a 
"A  Tale  of  Lexington";  Oliver  B.  Bunce's  "Love  in  76"  (a  social 
rather  than  a  war  play);  and  countless  others  that  find  record  in 
Oscar  Wegelin's  "Early  American  Plays  (1714-1830)";  in  Robert 
F.  Roden's  "Later  American  Plays  (1831-1900)";  in  an  "Index  to 
American  Poetry  and  Plays  in  the  Collection  of  C.  Fiske  Harris" 
(1874);  in  "More  Early  American  Plays,"  Lit.  Collect.,  2:82-84;  in 
published  accounts  of  famous  collections  of  plays  owned  by  the  late 
Thos.  J.  McKee  (144  plays);  in  the  Brinley  American  Library 


46  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

And  the  striking  characteristic  of  many  of  these  plays  was 
that  in  them  representations  of  live  historical  personages 
were  introduced.  When  Victor  Mapes's  "Captain  Barring- 
ton"  (1903)  actually  brought  the  figure  of  Washington  on 
the  boards,  people  showed  surprise,  and,  to  the  credit  of  the 
actor  playing  the  role,  they  went  away  further  surprised 
that  their  patriotic  sensibilities  were  not  shocked,  for 
historic  characters  on  the  stage  flavor  of  the  Eden  Muse*e. 

But  at  close  range,  as  in  the  instance  of  Royall  Tyler,  our 
first  American  dramatist,  in  contradistinction  to  Robert 
Hunter,  whose  "Androboros"  was  the  first  dramatic  piece 
printed  in  America  (1714),  there  was  no  hesitancy  regarding 
historical  representation  or  political  allusions.  Concerning 
Dunlap's  heroic  blank- verse  drama  of  "Andre,"  as  Pro 
fessor  Matthews  has  pointed  out,  the  piece  was  produced  on 
March  30, 1798,  with  Arnold  and  Washington  still  alive,  and 
close  upon  the  incident  of  Andrews  hanging  in  1780.  Wash 
ington  was  introduced  as  one  of  the  characters.  The  type  of 
play  marking  the  Revolution  and  the  War  of  1812  was  one 
of  feeling,  in  which  Royalist  and  American  bandied  words. 

Mr.  Ford  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  as  early  as  1690 
the  African  slave  was  dealt  with  in  a  drama  by  one  Afara 
Behn,  a  play  called  "The  Widow  Ranter;  or,  Bacon  in 
Virginia."  But  the  most  portentous  drama  on  the  subject 
proved  to  be  the  dramatization  of  Mrs.  Stowe's  "Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin."  The  novel  was  published  in  1851,  and  was 
almost  immediately  prepared  for  the  stage  by  George  L. 
Aitkin,  and  first  presented  at  the  Troy  Museum  in  1852. 
This  popularity  undoubtedly  suggested  to  Dion  Boucicault 
the  spirit  for  his  "The  Octoroon;  or,  Life  in  Louisiana," 
which  was  produced  toward  the  end  of  1859. 

catalogue;  in  the  Beck  and  Duyckinck  Collections  (New  York 
Public  Library);  and  in  a  collection  owned  by  the  Brown  Univer 
sity  Library. 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  FROM   1750  TO   1S70    47 

These  types  never  die  out.  Dunlap's  "Andre"  may  be 
balanced  by  Clyde  Fitch's  "Major  Andre";  J.  N.  Barker's 
"Superstition"  by  Herman  Hagerdorn's  version  of  "The 
Witch";  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  by  Edward  Sheldon's 
"The  Nigger."  The  differences  to  be  found  in  them  lie 
in  their  several  techniques,  and  in  their  economic  and  social 
approaches.  If  they  are  not  heard  of  to-day,  it  is  because 
their  vitality  was  momentary.  Take  such  titles  as  Charles 
Gayler's  "Bull  Run";  as  "The  Federal  Spy;  or,  Pauline  of 
the  Potomac"  and  "Union  Prisoners;  or,  the  Patriot's 
Daughter."  They  were  hammered  out  in  moments  of 
heat,  and  possessed  none  of  the  healthy  value  of  Gillette's 
"Secret  Service." 

The  next  characteristic  to  note  in  American  drama  is  the 
influence  of  Germany  upon  the  theatre,  not  only  with  the 
plays  of  Schiller,  but  more  particularly  with  the  prolific 
Kotzebue's  (1761-1819)  examples  of  melodrama.  We 
know,  for  instance,  how  thoroughly  influenced  William 
Dunlap1  (1766-1839)  became  by  such  pieces;  how  prone  he 
was  to  be  interested  in  drama  of  the  type  of  "Douglas "and 
"Venice  Preserved."  Hence,  a  large  part  of  his  time  was 
spent  in  translating  Kotzebue,2  after  he  had  gone  to  the 
trouble  of  mastering  German  for  that  special  purpose. 
Dunlap  was  our  first  dramatic  manipulator;  he  was  the 
first  theatre  manager  to  illustrate  how  readily  foreign  mate 
rial  might  be  turned  to  American  advantage,  without  costing 
much.8 

1  See    Publications    of    the    Dunlap    Society.     Much  valuable 
material  on  Dunlap  is  owned  by  the  New  York  Historical  Society. 
See  "Publications,"  vol.  14,  vol.  15,  vol.  24,  vol.  30,  for  Dunlap's 
diary. 

2  Charles   Smith  (b.  1768)  likewise  translated  Kotzebue.     See 
Wegelin. 

3  See  Frederick  H.  Wilkin's  "Early  Influence  of  German  Litera 
ture  in  America,"  Americana    Germanica,   vol.   3,   no.  2,    1899, 


48  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

It  is  strange  that  Tyler  (1758-1826)  on  one  hand,  and  that 
Dunlap  on  the  other,  did  not  at  first  approach  the  theatre 
with  any  direct  intention  of  writing  for  it.  In  fact,  the 
former,  graduate  of  Harvard,  was  a  soldier  and  a  lawyer, 
and  had  never  been  to  the  theatre  in  his  life  until  sent  to 
New  York  on  diplomatic  service  relating  to  Shays'  Rebel 
lion.  Then  it  was  that  the  stage  took  hold  of  him,  and 
within  a  few  weeks  he  had  written  "The  Contrast"  (1787), 
crude  but  pleasing  to  the  tastes  of  Wignell,  low  comedian. 
Tyler  seems  to  have  been  quite  indifferent  to  his  success, 
though  he  immediately  proceeded  to  write  the  libretto  for 
a  comic  opera,  "May-day  in  Town;  or,  New  York  in  an 
Uproar,"  and  some  years  after,  in  1797,  he  was  ready  with 
"A  Good  Spec;  or,  Land  in  the  Moon,"  dealing  with  the 
Yazoo  scandal  in  Georgia. 

During  this  time,  Dunlap  was  in  Europe,  and  had  heard 
nothing  of  Tyler's  favor  with  "The  Contrast."  He  had 
been  studying  art  under  Benjamin  West,  and  though  he 
could  boast  of  a  liking  for  the  theatre  in  London,  with  Kemble, 
Mrs.  Siddons,  Palmer,  Mrs.  Jordan,  Mrs.  Abingdon,  and  Miss 
Farren  in  the  ascendancy,  he  might  not  be  considered  to 
have  been  in  the  least  stage-struck.  But  Tyler  fired  his 
enthusiasm,  and  he  immediately  began  on  that  career  which 
was  to  cover  several  decades,  and  to  win  for  him  the  name  of 
"  Father  of  the  American  Drama."  His  first  play  —  dis 
counting  his  youthful  dramatization  of  "  The  Arabian  Nights," 
—  was  "Modest  Soldier;  or,  Love  in  New  York,"  and  was 
never  mounted.  During  1789,  "The  Father;  or,  American 

pp.  103-205.  Note  also  the  following:  C.  F.  Brede's  "Schiller  on  the 
Philadelphia  Stage,  to  the  year  1830  ";  W.  H.  Carruth's  "  Schiller 
and  America";  E.  C.  Parry's  "Schiller  in  America."  Also  read 
Kuno  Francke's  "Schiller's  Message  to  Modern  Life,"  Atlantic,  95: 
611-16.  See  Ch.  Rabany's  "Kotzebue:  sa  Vie  et  son  Temps," 
Paris,  1893;  also  a  dissertation  by  Walter  Sellier  on  "Kotzebue  in 
England." 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  FROM   1750  TO   1870    49 

Shandyism  "  was  given  at  the  New  York  John  Street  Theatre 

—  a  play  which  was  revised  in  1807  under  the  title  of  "Father 
of  an  Only  Child."     It  was  after  this  that  he  became  man 
ager  of  a  theatre — at  first  with  Hallam  and  Hodgkinson, 
but  afterwards  by  himself.1 

There  is  a  character  in  "The  Contrast"  which  is  a  definite 
drawing  of  Yankee  eccentricities,  and  may  be  taken  as  the 
first  effort  of  an  American  dramatist  to  be  subtly  American. 
It  suggests  another  tendency  in  the  subject-matter  we  are 
tracing:  that  effort  to  catch  the  national  traits  marking 
the  American  people.  The  general  fault  in  this  type  of 
play  has  been  very  well  stated  by  Professor  Matthews : 2 

"  An  apt  epigram  is  afloat  —  ascribed  to  Mr.  Boucicault 

—  to  the  effect  that  '  All  that  the  Americans  seem  to  recog 
nize  as  dramatic  here  is  the  caricature  of  character,  and  that 
is  what  the  successful  plays  are  —  caricature  of  eccentric 
character  set  in  a  weak  dramatic  framework/     This,  like 
most  epigrams,  is  a  smart  setting  of  a  half-truth.     Ameri 
cans  recognize  the  character  through  the  caricature,  accepting 
the  latter  only  for  lack  of  the  former.    The  want  is  want  of 
art  on  the  part  of  the  authors." 

But  though  such  further  efforts  as  those  of  Samuel  Wood- 
worth  in  "The  Forest  Rose;  or,  American  Farmers"  (1825) 

1  In  the  Dunlap  Soc.  edition  of  "The  Father;  or,  American 
Shandyism,"  with  an  introduction  by  Thos  J.  McKee,  there  is  a 
complete  bibliography  of  sixty-three  plays;  see  pp.  x-xi.  During 
1806,  Dunlap,  having  retired  from  active  theatre  work,  wrote  hia 
history  of  the  theatre,  and  then  published  four  volumes  comprising 
fifteen  of  his  plays;  he  also  resumed  his  work  as  an  artist.  An 
excellent  picture  of  Dunlap  forms  the  frontispiece  for  Wegelin's 
"Early  American  Plays."  See  also  the  Dunlap  Soc.  edition  of 
"AndreY'  edited  by  Brander  Matthews  (1887).  Tyler's  "The 
Contrast"  was  reprinted  by  the  Dunlap  Soc.,  in  1887.  For  a  por 
trait  of  Tyler,  see  New  Eng.  Mag.,  1894,  n.s.,  9:  675. 

8  "The  American  on  the  Stage,"  Century,  18:  321-33,  July,  1879. 
See  also  Laurence  Mutton's  "The  American  Play,"  Lippincott,  37: 
289-98,  March,  1886. 


50  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

may  be  regarded  in  the  historical  evolution,  the  Yankee 
came,  not  by  way  of  literary  dramatic  expression,  but  by 
way  of  eccentric  American  acting.  If  one  should  desire  the 
real  cause  for  the  American  type,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
examine  into  the  nature  and  temperament  of  the  comedians, 
George  H.  Hill  and  James  H.  Hackett.1  The  fact  is,  Hackett 
assumed  the  role  of  Jonathan  Ploughboy  in  Woodworth's 
pastoral,  and  then,  being  identified  with  things  American, 
set  to  work  to  create  such  characterizations  as  Rip  Van 
Winkle,  Col  Nimrod  Wildfire  in  James  K.  Paulding's  "The 
Lion  of  the  West"  (1831), — which  proved  to  be  so  popular 
that  Bayle  Bernard  introduced  the  same  character  in  a 
drama  entitled  "The  Kentuckian," — and  three  Dutch  Gov 
ernors,  in  a  play  of  that  title,  which  Bernard  dramatized 
from  Irving's  "Knickerbocker  History." 

It  was  the  genius  of  the  actors,  therefore,  that  encouraged 
the  American  type.  Their  ability  to  create  an  accent,  as 
broad  and  as  humorous  as  their  French  or  Irish,  resulted  in 
a  following  for  the  eccentric  in  drama.  Hackett's  Yankee 
Solomon  Swap,  and  his  Horse-shoe  Robinson,  based  on  John 
P.  Kennedy's  novel,  were  dependent  absolutely  upon  the 
live  personality  of  the  player.  Anyone  reading  J.  S. 
Jones'  "The  People's  Lawyer,"2  in  which  occurs  the  char 
acter  of  Solon  Shingle,  a  country  teamster,  would  hardly 
draw  from  it  what  audiences  drew  from  the  work  of  John 
E.  Owens,  or  of  George  H.  Hill  when  it  was  first  played  at 
the  Boston  National,  in  1839.  The  required  costume  of 
Solon  would  alone  measure  the  broadness  of  the  caricature: 
"Dark  drab  old-fashioned  surtout  with  capes,  Sheep's 

1  See  my  "Famous  Actor-Families  in  America"  for  a  chapter  on 
"The  Hacketts."     In  the  same  volume,  under  "The  Jeffersons," 
will  be  found  traced  the  evolution  of  "Rip  Van  Winkle."     See 
French's  Standard  Drama,  174,  for  Burke's  version. 

2  French's  Standard  Drama,  248.     See  also  in  the  same  series, 
173,  "The  Vermont  Wool-dealer,"  a  farce. 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  FROM   1750  TO  1870    51 

grey  trowsers,  lead  colored  striped  vest,  old  style  black 
stock,  cow-hide  boots,  broad-brimmed  low-crowned  hat, 
bald-headed  flaxen  wig."  The  same  latitude  is  to  be  found 
in  C.  A.  Logan's  "Yankee  Land"  *  which,  produced  at  the 
Park  Theatre  in  1834,  introduced  Hackett  as  Lot  Sap 
Sago. 

Tom  Taylor,  quick  to  fathom  the  popular  appeal,  now 
prepared  "Our  American  Cousin,"  in  which  Asa  Tre?ichard, 
the  rough,  whole-souled  Yankee,  was  pitted  against  Dun 
dreary.  This  was  as  surely  the  outcome  of  Hackett's  Yankee 
victories  as  Davy  Crockett  was  the  successor  of  Nimrod  Wild 
fire. 

The  land  resounded  with  the  Yankee  brogue,  or  with 
local  eccentricities,  North,  South,  East,  and  West.2  The 
first  of  Lowell's  "Biglow  Papers"  appeared  in  1846;  Mark 
Twain  fixed  indelibly  life  on  the  Mississippi  River  in  the 
early  '50's;  Bret  Harte,  in  1S54,  went  to  California  to  catch 
the  mountain  dialect  and  the  mountain  manner.  In  the 
South,  there  was  a  whole  line  of  humorists,  including  Joseph 
G.  Baldwin,  Augustus  B.  Longstreet,  W.  T.  Thompson,  and 
J.  J.  Hooper,  who  caught  the  eccentric  character  of  the  Black 
Belt.  As  far  as  the  stage  was  concerned,  a  good  actor 
could  make  a  bad  play  go,  but,  because  of  the  flimsy  material, 
the  play  ceased  with  the  actor.  Playgoers  understand,  for 
example,  what  Mark  Twain  and  Charles  Dudley  Warner's 
"The  Gilded  Age"  suffered  from  the  hands  of  George  B. 
Dinsmore,  who,  unauthorized,  put  Colonel  Sellers  in  a  play. 
Litigation  ensued,  and  the  manuscript  reverted  to  Mr. 
Clemens,  who  touched  it  up,  but  John  T.  Raymond  alone 

1  French's  Minor  Drama,  202. 

2  Modern  instances  of  typal  books  from  which  successful  drama 
tizations  have  been  made  are  plentiful;   for  example,  Annie  Hagen 
Rice's  "Mrs.  Wiggs  of  the  Cabbage  Patch"  and  Edward  Noyes 
Westcott's  "David  Harum." 


52  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

made  Sellers.1  According  to  Howells,  who  wrote  of  it  in 
1875,  the  play  was  "scarcely  more  than  a  sketch,  a  frame 
work  almost  as  naked  as  that  which  the  Italians  used  to  clothe 
on  with  their  commedia  d'arte;  and  it  [was]  as  unlike  good 
literature  as  many  other  excellent  acting  plays.  ...  [It  was] 
true,  in  its  broad  way,  to  American  conditions,  and  [was] 
a  fair  and  just  satire  upon  our  generally  recognized  social 
and  political  corruptions."  2 

Such  social  satire,  slightly  vulgarized,  was  to  be  found  in 
B.  E.  WoolfV'The  Mighty  Dollar"  (1875),which,  as  we  have 
said,  W.  J.  Florence  made  so  famous  by  his  characterization 
of  Judge  Bardwell  Slote,  a  speculative  drama  whose  modern 
counterpart  some  critics  detected  in  W.  H.  Crane's  delin 
eation  of  Hannibal  Rivers  in  "The  Senator"  (1890).  These 
national  types  narrowed  down  to  local  idols,  and  no  more 
popular  character  was  known  to  the  stage  of  1848  than  Mose, 
a  New  York  Fire  Boy,  whom  Chanfrau  personated  in  "A 
Glance  at  New  York."  Reading  it  through,  one  discovers 
strange  local  allusions  marking  the  time,  but  more  than 
that  one  detects  the  identical  movement  so  familiar  in  the 
humor  of  modern  melodrama.  I  imagine  Mose  might  slip 
into  the  cast  of  "Nellie,  the  Beautiful  Cloak  Model"  with 
perfect  impunity.  It  is  the  tough  type  later  dealt  with  in 
Townsend's  "Chimmie  Fadden"  and  in  Owen  Kildare's 
"My  Mamie  Rose,"  but  with  none  of  the  naturalism  of 
present  day  technique.  It  was  familiar  rough-and-tumble 
drama,  with  glaring  pathos,  coarse  humor,  and  burlesque 
interruptions. 

But  already  we  note  this  fact  concerning  the  regard  of  the 
American  dramatist,  in  his  effort  to  create  the  American 

1  See  chapter  on  Raymond  by  Franklyn  Fyles,  contained  in  the 
second   volume   of   McKay   and   Wingate's   "Famous   American 
Actors  of  To-day." 

2  Atlantic,  35:  749,  June,  1875. 


AMERICAN   DRAMA  FROM   1750  TO   1870    53 

type  he  was  obliged  to  create  American  condition.  And  we 
soon  find  the  trail  of  society  drama  sketching  the  manners 
and  customs  of  distinct  decades.  That  is  why,  in  reading 
the  early  American  dramas,  it  were  well  to  connect  Mrs. 
Mowatt's  "  Fashion  "  (1845)  and  Mrs.  Sidney  F.  Bateman's 
"Self"  (1856)  with  the  reading  of  Fanny  Kemble's  New 
York  experiences  and  with  the  travels  of  Tyrone  Power. 
John  Brougham  came  to  New  York  around  1842,  and  he 
used  to  shoot  birds  in  the  woods  near  Twenty-third  Street, 
and  to  take  suburban  drives  around  the  old  reservoir  on 
Forty-second  Street,  where  the  New  York  Public  Library 
now  stands. 

The  current  papers  seemed  surprised  over  the  facility  of 
ordinary  dialogue  used  in  these  plays  —  dialogue  containing 
local  allusion  of  the  street  and  parlor  of  that  time,  intro 
ducing  the  conventional  English  dialect,  exploiting  the 
parvenu  desire  to  utter  French  phrases,  making  use  of  negro 
dialect  as  incongruous  as  that  resorted  to  by  Poe  in  "The 
Gold  Bug."  One  may  trace  the  period  by  the  references  to 
civic  improvements,  as  when  Mrs.  Bateman  makes  one  of 
her  characters  speak  of  horses  slipping  on  the  Russ  pave 
ments.  There  is  a  slight  touch  of  Harriet  Martineau's 
political  economy  in  attitudes  strictly  feminine. 

At  the  time  of  Mrs.  Mowatt's  "Fashion,"  New  York 
whirled  around  Canal  Street.  All  society  drama  seemed  to 
know  but  one  situation :  the  mad  rush  after  money  and  social 
prestige  at  the  moment  when  financial  ruin  threatened  a 
family.  It  sought  to  be  satire  aimed  particularly  at  the  effort 
to  be  English,  for  the  American  is  introduced  breezily  and 
roughly, —  note  Adam  Trueman,  the  farmer,  in  "Fashion." 
Lower  Broadway  was  the  promenade,  with  its  busses  and 
carriages  rolling  out  into  the  country  —  possibly  to  Central 
Park  —  carrying  parties  for  recreation.  The  theatres  were 
clustered  around  the  lower  end  of  New  York  when  "Fashion" 


54  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

was  presented  at  the  Park  Theatre  (March  24,  1845), 
opposite  the  old  Astor  House  on  Vesey  Street.  Even  then 
theatrical  life  had  flowed  from  the  Battery  to  Park  Row;  it 
was  soon  to  creep  up  Broadway,  the  Wallacks  going  from 
Brougham's  Lyceum  near  Broome  Street  on  Broadway  to 
Thirteenth  Street,  thence  to  Thirtieth.  New  York  theatres 
have  moved  with  the  parks.  At  one  time,  Twenty-third 
Street  was  considered  a  central  location  for  drama,  but  now 
Forty-second  Street  seems  to  be  the  established  point  of 
activity.  Theatrical  conditions  have  enlarged  since  the 
days  of  "  Fashion, "  and  so  has  social  life. 

Poe1  was  not  quite  in  accord  with  the  "modern  drama" 
of  his  day,  yet,  despite  his  prejudiced  feeling,  his  comments 
anent  "Fashion"  have  truth  in  them.  If  I  quote  him  at 
length,  it  is  to  illustrate  how  aloof  he  was,  nevertheless,  from 
the  true  spirit  of  the  theatre,  even  though  his  literary  sense 
measured  aptly  the  "  monstrous  inartisticalities."  He  wrote: 

"The  day  has  at  length  arrived  when  men  demand  ra 
tionalities  in  place  of  conventionalities.  It  will  no  longer  do 
to  copy,  even  with  absolute  accuracy,  the  whole  tone  of  even 
so  ingenious  and  really  spirited  a  thing  as  the  '  School  for 
Scandal/  2  It  was  comparatively  good  in  its  day,  but  it 
would  be  positively  bad  at  the  present  day,  and  imitations 
of  it  are  inadmissible  at  any  day. 

"  Bearing  in  mind  the  spirit  of  these  observations,  we  may 
say  that  *  Fashion'  is  theatrical  but  not  dramatic.  It  is  a 
pretty  well-arranged  selection  from  the  usual  routine  of 
stage  characters,  and  stage  manoeuvres  —  but  there  is  not 
one  particle  of  any  nature,  beyond  greenroom  nature,  about 

1  The  over-conscientiousness  of  Poe's  criticism  is  seen  in  his  con 
fession  (Broadway  Journal,  April  5,  1845)  that  since  its  opening  he 
had  been  to  Mrs.  Mowatt's  "Fashion"  every  night,  in  order  to 
determine  the  full  extent  of  its  merits  and  demerits. 

2  See  "Later  Criticism"  (V)  in  Virginia  edition  of  his  works. 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  FROM   1750  TO   1870    55 

it.  No  such  events  ever  happened  in  fact,  or  ever  could 
happen,  as  happen  in  'Fashion/  Nor  are  we  quarreling, 
now,  with  the  mere  exaggeration  of  character  or  incident; 
were  this  all,  the  play,  although  bad  as  comedy,  might  be 
good  as  farce,  of  which  the  exaggeration  of  possible  incon 
gruities  is  the  chief  element.  Our  faultfinding  is  on  the 
score  of  deficiency  in  verisimilitude  —  in  natural  art  — that 
is  to  say,  in  art  based  on  the  natural  laws  of  man's  heart  and 
understanding." 

It  is  this  violent  distortion  which  marks  Boucicault's 
"The  Streets  of  New  York"  (1857),  Daly's  "Under  the 
Gaslight"  (1867),  and  Howard's  "Saratoga"  (1870), equally 
as  lacking  in  verisimilitude  as  "Fashion"  or  as  "  Self."  In 
contrast  with  these,  Langdon  Mitchell's  "The  New  York 
Idea"  (1906)  is  a  striking  and  excellent  example  of  the 
progress  made  in  American  social  drama.  The  early  stage 
cared  nothing  for  invention  or  plot,  and  its  wit  lay  in  carica 
ture.  Mr.  Mitchell's  comedy1  is  good  reading;  it  has  literary 
tone,  and,  above  all,  it  lacks  grotesque  wit,  substituting 
instead  brilliant  humor. 

The  progress  of  the  American  theatre  is  marked  by  the 
manager  as  well  as  by  the  actor.  John  Brougham,2  of 
Irish  extraction,  did  much  for  the  stage  practically  as  well  as 
literarily.  His  mind  was  prolific  in  the  interests  of  W.  E. 
Burton,  who  was  himself  a  devotee  of  the  pen.  Comedies, 
farces,  melodramas,  comediettas,  dramatizations,  especially 
of  Dickens,  spectaculars  and  burlesques  are  to  the  credit  of 
Brougham,3  yet  not  one  of  his  plays  has  had  vitality 
enough  to  hold  the  boards.  Yet  in  the  J50's,  no  man 
was  more  prominent  than  he  —  writer,  manager,  and 
actor. 

1  Printed  privately. 

2  See  Life  by  William  Winter;  see  also  the  latter's  "Other  Days." 

3  See  Wogelin. 


56  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Succeeding  him  came  the  Wallack  galaxy,  J.  W.  Wallack 
revising  Congreve's  "  Love  for  Love, "  and  Lester  Wallack 
(1820-1888)  writing  "Two  to  One;  or,  The  King's  Visit" 
(1854),  "First  Impressions"  (1856),  "The  Veteran"  (1859), 
"The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man"  (1859),  "Central 
Park"  (1861),  and  "Rosedale"  (1863).  Close  upon  the 
brilliancy  of  Wallack's  stock  companies  came  Palmer's 
Union  Square  Theatre  Company,1  which  carried  its  prestige 
to  the  Madison  Square  Theatre  and  thence  to  the  Lyceum, 
when  Daniel  Frohman  came  into  the  horizon.  In  the  mean 
time,  Augustin  Daly  (1838-1899),  in  1862,  adapted  "Leah, 
the  Forsaken"  from  Mosenthal,  and  therewith  began  his 
career,  which  was  to  include  his  pruning  and  arranging  of 
the  Elizabethan  drama,  and  his  adaptations  of  French  pieces 
like  "Frou-Frou."  Such  a  survey  as  is  here  given  cannot 
ignore  the  managerial  regime  of  Laura  Keene,  or  the  drama 
tization  of  "Camille"  by  Matilda  Heron  (1856). 

But  Wallack  with  his  English  proclivities,  and  Palmer  with 
his  numerous  D'Ennery  and  Sardou  adaptations  by  A.  R. 
Cazauran,  which  were  deprived  of  social  significance,  and 
Daly  with  his  German  dependence,  might  hardly  be  deemed 
influences  on  the  American  dramatist,  until  1870  brought 
Bronson  Howard  to  the  field.  Yet  these  managers  had 
much  to  say  concerning  the  American  drama.  In  1893, 
Palmer2  wrote,  apropos  of  Bartley  Campbell  and  his  contem 
poraries: 

"The  prominent  evil  tendency  of  the  American  writer  has 
been  to  look  for  his  types  among  his  countrymen  of  the  baser 
sort,  who  never  by  any  possibility  pronounce  English  words 
properly  and  who  seem  to  take  the  greatest  pains  to  speak 

1  See  The  American  Magazine,  9:1-23,  Nov.,  1888,  an  article 
on  Palmer  by  George  Edgar  Montgomery.     The  Boston  Museum 
was  dominated  by  the  personality  of  manager  Field. 

2  Forum,  15:614-20. 


Photo,  by  Atmf  Ditpont 


AUGUSTIX  DALY 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  FROM   1750  TO   1870    57 

slang  and  utter  vulgarisms,  and  to  act  as  if  good  manners 
were  a  reproach  instead  of  an  accomplishment." 

Augustin  Daly  became  general,  after  specifying  that  the 
American  dramatist  of  his  day  sought  to  emulate  the  master 
pieces  of  modern  fiction.  He  wrote  (1886) : 

"Boker  might  have  idealized  the  Kentucky  tragedy  in 
stead  of  the  Rimini  drama,  and  Bird  might  have  made  his 
Spartacus  an  Indian  Chief  —  but  our  national  theatre  has 
lost  nothing  by  their  omission.  The  present  masterpieces 
of  the  stage,  in  every  tongue,  are  pictures  of  the  passions  of 
mankind  in  general." 

Finally,  I  quote  the  opinions  of  Boucicault,1  whose  dramas 
are  prolific  and  whose  plots  are  ingenious  —  Boucicault, 
the  sentimentalist,  whose  Irish  humor  was  not  native,  but 
who  directed  himself  into  native  channels  because  he  was 
enough  of  the  playwright  to  give  the  public  what  was 
opportune,  like  "The  Relief  of  Lucknow"  (1858).  He 
deplored  "the  philosophical  school  of  sociology,"  and  dep 
recated  the  naturalism  of  Zola  and  the  realism  of  Ibsen. 
Given  always  to  broad  expressions  of  opinion,  he  wrote  (1890) : 

"  Tragedy  and  high  comedy  will  always  be  held  in  respect 
on  the  future  American  stage,  but  it  seems  probable  that  the 
drama  of  modern  life,  the  reflex  of  the  period,  will  prevail 
over  every  other  kind  of  entertainment.  This  drama  will 
present  a  character,  or  a  group  of  characters,  not  a  compli 
cated  or  sensational  action,  affording  a  physiological  study 
by  way  of  illustration,  not  by  way  of  description." 

Thus  spoke  those  most  prominent  in  the  theatrical  field 
before  the  advent  of  Charles  and  Daniel  Frohman,  before 
the  actual  period  when  the  American  dramatist  found  it  an 
advantage  to  be  American.  There  are  other  tendencies  in 
the  development,  to  be  noted  in  the  next  chapter,  but  this 
summary  will  be  sufficient  to  indicate  that,  though  the  body 

1  Arena,  2:  641-52,  Nov.,  1890. 


58  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

of  American  drama  is  large,  its  form  is  out  of  fashion  and  is  of 
interest  simply  as  history  or  as  a  measure  of  histrionic  ability. 

We  do  not  repudiate  the  development  of  American  drama 
before  1870,  but  we  do  not  rank  it  as  high.  We  revere  the 
names  of  Booth  and  Barrett,  of  Jefferson  and  Holland,  of 
Davenport,  Gilbert,  and  Clarke,  of  Laura  Keene  and  Char 
lotte  Cushman.  But  the  drama  in  those  days  developed 
under  peculiar  social  and  economic  conditions  which  are 
over;  the  type,  the  form,  and  the  manner  are  over. 

We  are  sure  to  find  the  average  and  the  below-the-average 
in  each  and  every  age.  There  was  as  much  mediocre  stage 
material  before  1870  as  after,  in  fact  more.  I  only  question 
a  production  in  the  light  of  what  I  know  of  my  time;  I  test 
its  artistic  quality  by  whatever  culture  I  may  have;  I 
challenge  its  morality  by  what  I  have  learned  of  the  moral 
atmosphere  in  which  I  live.  No  critic  should  undervalue  or 
overvalue.  But  the  service  of  an  historical  perspective  in 
such  a  survey  as  this  lies  in  the  conclusions  which  result. 
For  one  who  has  read  dramatic  history  aright  can  see  that 
the  modern  theatre  calls  for  different  acting  because  of  the 
change  in  stage  technique.  The  business  of  the  theatre  to 
day  cannot  be  managed  as  Booth  mismanaged  his  theatre  in 
New  York.  If  the  drama  often  lies  in  the  hands  of  money 
changers,  such  condition  is  a  business  condition  which  has  to 
alter  before  art  may  flourish.  The  drama  must  pass  through 
its  evolution,  through  its  periods  of  types  and  conditions. 
If  people  are  interested  in  social  reform,  it  must  reflect 
society.  That  seems  to  be  where  it  is  to-day. 

Before  1870,  the  American  dramatist,  as  we  take  him  in 
the  studies  to  follow,  did  not  exist.  But  effort  toward 
Americanism  did  find  root,  even  as  early  as  Royall  Tyler, 
and  in  tracing  this  persistent  effort  is  to  be  found  the  chief 
value  of  any  literal  historical  survey. 


CHAPTER  IV 

OUR   LITERARY  AND   OUR  CLOSET-DRAMA 


DRAMATIC  history  clearly  demonstrates  to  the  student  that 
while  it  is  not  necessary  for  a  play  to  be  literature,  any  play 
that  is  true  to  the  essentials  of  that  segment  of  life  with 
which  it  deals  cannot  help  but  be  literature.  Yet  neither 
proposition  implies  that  in  order  to  be  literature,  drama 
needs  must  sacrifice  its  fundamental  moving  and  progres 
sive  character. 

Tradition  creates  stolid  impressions,  and  after  1830, 
when  Hugo  and  Dumas  set  the  dramatic  pace,  tragedy  on 
every  hand  was  couched  in  nothing  but  a  grandiloquent 
manner.  Every  one  copied  the  Elizabethans,  and  it  was 
considered  false  to  theatrical  standards  to  select  any  sub 
ject  for  stage  treatment  that  would  not  be  aloof  and  most 
likely  historical.  Our  American  authors  were  interested 
in  foreign  literature;  Longfellow,  Lowell,  and  later,  Bayard 
Taylor,  showed  enthusiasm  for  continental  ideas,  mediaeval 
or  modern. 

In  one  respect,  the  literary  drama  in  America  flourished 
as  it  did  in  England  —  through  the  support  and  interest 
of  the  actor.  But  while  the  American  literary  type  was 
nought  in  comparison  with  the  British  type,  Edwin  Forrest 
in  magnitude  was  no  inferior  to  Macready  and  Irving, 
who  stood  sponsors  for  Browning  and  Tennyson.  Except 
for  the  historical  perspective,  this  phase  of  American  drama 


60  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

might  be  dismissed  in  a  general  way,  but  Forrest,  through 
power  and  animal  magnetism,  carried  many  a  verbose  text 
across  the  footlights.  His  whole  method  as  an  actor  en 
couraged  such  pieces  as  Stone's  "Metamora,"  Bird's  "The 
Gladiator,"  and  Conrad's  "Jack  Cade." 

Yet,  while  there  is  a  certain  rolling  sonorousness  in  these, 
they  are  not  native  in  the  sense  that  the  subject  matter 
was  native  to  the  soil.  They  were  imitative,  as  John  Howard 
Payne  was  imitative  in  "Brutus;  or,  the  Fall  of  Tarquin" 
(1818).  The  old  English  drama  was  the  model,  while  Italy, 
Spain,  or  Germany  appeared  to  be  the  locality.  In  choice 
of  subject  alone,  these  literary  aspirants  for  the  drama 
exhibited  their  preconceived  notions  as  to  tragedy.  The 
Southerners  who  wrote  dramas  knew  nothing  outside  of 
foreign  realms.  A.  J.  Requier  became  author  of  "The 
Spanish  Exile"  (1842);  George  Henry  Miles  wrote  "Mo 
hammed"  (1850),  "De  Soto"  (1853),  and  "Senor  Valiente" 
(1858);  Caroline  Lee  Hentz  published  a  five-act  tragedy, 
"De  Lara;  or,  The  Moorish  Bride"  (1843);  while  Isaac 
Harby,  in  the  stream  of  classic  tradition  and  of  Kotzebue 
influence,  wrote  "Alexander  Severus"  (1807)  and  " Alberti" 
(1819).1 

What  Professor  Matthews  says  of  England  may  very 
well  be  said  of  America:  that  its  "literature  is  strewed  with 
wrecked  tragedies,  lofty  enough  in  aspiration,  but  pitifully 
lacking  in  imagination."  If  these  pieces  found  their  way 
to  the  stage,  they  did  so  because  they  were  nurtured  by  the 
mistaken  beliefs  of  some  manager.  When  J.  W.  Wallack 
was  in  charge  of  The  National,  he  had  faith  in  the  dra 
matic  powers  of  Nathaniel  P.  Willis,  but,  save  in  "  Tortesa, 
the  Usurer"  (1839),  Willis  cannot  be  said  to  have  approached 
the  requirements  of  the  stage.  Even  in  "Tortesa"  he  was 

1  See  Bibliography:  "Southern  Fiction  Prior  to  1860."  James 
Gibson  Johnson,  Charlottesville,  Va.,  1909. 


OUR  LITERARY  AND   CLOSET-DRAMA     61 

undramatic  though  oratorical;  he  had  read  Hugo,  and  he 
knew  his  Shylock  and  his  Juliet.  In  fact,  these  early  authors 
who  wrote  literary  or  closet-dramas  were  so  steeped  in 
Shakespeare  that  echoes  of  the  great  poet's  lines  are  easily 
detected  everywhere.  Boker's  "  Francesca  da  Rimini,"  his 
most  suitably  theatrical  play,  is  simply  riddled  with  Eliza 
bethan  harmonies  —  lines  barely  changed  save  to  make 
the  verse  weaker,  and  containing  the  identical  sentiment 
put  in  a  less  inevitable  way. 

The  Knickerbocker,  the  New  England,  the  Philadelphia, 
and  the  Southern  schools,  therefore,  held  the  same  notions 
regarding  the  drama  as  a  readable  and  as  an  actable  medium. 
The  literary  man's  attitude  toward  the  theatre  was  that  of 
the  dilettante;  it  was  amateurish,  though  there  was  a  sincere 
desire  on  his  part  to  excel  in  the  art.  But  the  litterateur  had 
a  mistaken  notion  as  to  the  province  of  the  theatre,  and 
he  was  not  willing  to  serve  apprenticeship.  Besides  which, 
in  his  choice  of  subject,  he  was  prompted  by  the  old-fashioned 
broadness  of  acting,  and  he  wrote  romantic  melodrama  — 
romantic  in  a  sort  of  external  psychology,  but  statuesque 
in  action.  That  notion  of  the  heroic  has  persisted,  as  we 
shall  see  when  we  come  to  consider  the  Tragic  Spirit  and  the 
American  people. 

It  is  false,  however,  to  separate  literature  and  drama. 
While  it  is  legitimate  to  accept  the  closet-drama  as  a  form 
in  itself,  it  is  not  legitimate  to  consider  it  as  in  any  way 
necessary  to  the  theatre.  It  is  a  hybrid  type  which  Professor 
Matthews  rightly  notes  appeared  and  appears  only  at  times 
when  literature  and  the  theatre  are  divorced.1  Every  poet 
who  has  written  a  play  has  intended  it  for  the  stage,  but 
he  has  approached  his  task  wrongly.  And  so  we  begin  to 
realize  the  hopelessness  of  clriming  the  closet-drama  as  part 

1  See  "  The  Legitimacy  of  the  Closet-Drama."  Brander  Matthews. 
Scribner's,  February,  1908. 


62  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

of  the  strength  of  the  theatre,  when  we  read  H.  A.  Beers' 
opinion  of  it : 

"  [The  closet-dramatist]  need  not  sacrifice  truth  of  char 
acter  and  probability  of  plot  to  the  need  of  highly  accentu 
ated  situations.  He  does  not  have  to  consider  whether  a 
speech  is  too  long,  too  ornate  in  diction,  too  deeply  thought 
ful  for  recitation  by  an  actor.  If  the  action  lags  at  certain 
points,  let  it  lag.  In  short,  as  the  aim  of  the  closet-dramatist 
is  other  than  the  playwright's,  so  his  methods  may  be 
independent." 

This  statement  gives  a  false  impression  of  the  relation 
between  literature  and  drama;  one  is  a  principle  of  thought 
and  expression;  the  other  is  a  form  of  thought  and  expres 
sion.  To  deny  that  drama  cannot  come  within  the  category 
of  literature  is  to  deny  that  drama  may  ever  have  a  claim 
to  permanence.  True  literature  is  unconscious  excellence. 
Shakespeare  wrote  plays  rather  than  poetry,  yet  the  poetry 
in  them  preserves  them,  and  they  live  because,  though  the 
action  is  generally  conventional,  the  spiritual  quality  and 
the  mental  value  are  there  without  hurting  the  movement 
of  the  whole.  Modern  drama,  alone,  refutes  the  claim  that 
closet-plays  are  closet-plays  simply  because  they  aim  to  be 
literature.  Effective  stage  pieces,  as  a  rule,  have  not  been 
pleasing  to  read,  but  that  is  the  fault  of  the  literary  sense 
of  the  author  who  has  aimed  for  appreciation  through  out 
ward  theatrical  effect. 

There  are  two  sentences  in  Professor  Matthews'  "The 
Literary  Merit  of  Our  Latter-day  Drama"  l  which  point 
to  cardinal  weaknesses  in  the  closet-drama.  He  claims  that 
"a  dramatist  who  fails  to  please  the  play-going  public  of 
his  own  time  will  never  have  another  chance,"  and  again 
he  writes  that  "style  is  the  great  antiseptic,  no  doubt,  but 
style  cannot  bestow  life  on  the  still-born."  In  both  of  these 

1  See  "Inquiries  and  Opinions." 


OUR  LITERARY  AND   CLOSET-DRAMA     63 

respects,  closet-dramas  have  failed,  and,  therefore,  as  a  stage 
consideration,  they  exert  no  influence.  Managers  lose  when 
ever  they  mount  such  plays,  for  usually  literature  of  this 
kind  cares  nothing  for  the  practical  limitation  of  technique 
or  of  stage  accessory.  If  it  is  not  a  drama  of  ideas,  it  is  a 
drama  of  imagery;  it  is  discursive  rather  than  concentrated; 
it  is  slow-moving  rather  than  active;  it  is  poetic  rather  than 
dramatic. 

Longfellow,  after  seeing  "The  Vicar  of  Wakefield"  in 
dramatization,  was  convinced  of  the  superiority  of  dramatic 
representation  over  narrative.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
was  never  keenly  alive  to  the  actions  and  reactions  of  life, 
which  manifest  themselves  in  active  situations  rather  than 
in  pictures.  We  find  him,  therefore,  writing  as  early  as 
1845:  "Felt  more  than  ever  to-day  the  difference  between 
my  ideal  home-world  of  Poetry,  and  the  outer,  actual,  tan 
gible  Prose-world.  When  I  go  out  of  the  precincts  of  my 
study,  down  the  village  street  to  college,  how  the  scaffolding 
about  the  Palace  of  Song  comes  rattling  and  clattering  down." 
"The  Spanish  Student"  (1843)  and  the  "Tragedies"  failed 
to  find  their  way  to  the  stage. 

In  other  words,  the  closet-dramatist  has  suffered  because 
he  has  been  too  contemplative  on  one  hand,  and  because, 
on  the  other,  he  has  placed  too  much  attention  upon  orna 
mentation.  W.  D.  Howells  and  Henry  James  reduced  the 
oratorical  to  terms  of  modern  prose  rhythm,  and  in  their 
dialogues  they  came  very  near  the  requirements  of  the 
stage.  Mr.  Howells'  farces  have  all  been  published,1  and 
their  literary  flavor  once  more  suggests  to  us  a  weakness 
in  the  argument  that  literature  and  drama  are  incompatible. 
The  fault  with  Mr.  Howells  lies  in  the  fact  that  his  outlook 
upon  life  is  narrative,  and  that  he  is  too  faithful  in  noting 

1  See  partial  list  in  Roden's  "Later  American  Plays."  See  also 
catalogues  of  Harper  &  Bros. 


64  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

small  conversation.  But  Mr.  Howells  has  not  been  an  in 
fluence  in  American  drama,  however  much  his  interest  has 
been  centered  on  the  stage.  In  1877,  Lawrence  Barrett 
appeared  in  his  "Counterfeit  Presentment,"  and  in  1878 
appeared  in  his  "  Yorick's  Love." 

But,  like  Henry  James  and  Hamlin  Garland,  Mr.  Howells 
has  a  theoretical  view  of  drama.  All  of  them  are  interested 
in  the  stage  from  the  narrative  and  inventive  standpoints; 
they  are  pleased  with  the  inventions,  the  ideas,  the  character 
izations,  the  moral  problems,  the  philosophy,  the  social 
attitudes,  but  the  dramatic  manner  does  not  concern  them. 
They  disdain  the  theatrical,  not  realizing  that  consistent 
theatricalism  may  enter  the  realms  of  literature.  Charles 
Klein,  for  instance,  has  misused  theatricalism,  though  his 
plays  have  been  popular,  and  in  many  of  their  situations 
effective.  In  no  way  are  his  plays  closet-dramas;  they 
are  thoroughly  actable.  But  he  oftentimes  perverts  what 
the  literary  dramatist  fails  to  use  at  all. 

I  shall  later  speak  of  the  dramatic  sense  possessed  both 
by  Mr.  Howells  and  Mr.  James;  even  in  their  narrative, 
they  realize  the  essence  of  comedy  —  that  essence  which 
would  be  of  greatest  benefit  to  the  American  stage  were  it 
possessed  by  the  American  dramatist.  In  comparison  with 
the  early  literary  coteries,  however,  Howells  and  James  are 
nearer  the  real  spirit  of  the  modern  drama. 

The  popular  play  is  being  published  to-day  for  a  reading 
public  eager  to  have  it;  and  gradually  the  literary  following 
is  coming  to  realize  that  simply  because  of  the  fact  that  a 
drama  is  actable  is  no  reason  that  is  it  not  also  readable. 
Those  who  try  to  pore  through  Sheridan  Knowles'  "Brutus" 
or  Conrad's  "Jack  Cade"  will  realize  how  much  of  the  suc 
cess  was  due  to  acting;  in  fact  how  much  of  the  dialogue 
was  written  for  the  actor.  Henry  Arthur  Jones  is  a  great 
believer  in  the  literary  value  of  modern  drama,  upholding 


OUR  LITERARY  AND   CLOSET-DRAMA     65 

the  idea  that  if  a  play  is  truly  alive,  it  must  be  literature.1 
And  his  belief  finds  full  expression  in  the  following: 

"If  you  have  faithfully  and  searchingly  studied  your 
fellow-citizens;  if  you  have  selected  from  amongst  them 
those  characters  that  are  interesting  in  themselves,  and  that 
also  possess  an  enduring  human  interest;  if,  in  studying 
these  interesting  personalities,  you  have  severely  selected, 
from  the  mass  of  their  sayings  and  doings  and  impulses, 
those  words  and  deeds  and  tendencies  which  mark  them 
at  once  as  individuals  and  as  types;  if  you  have  then  recast 
and  re-imagined  all  the  materials;  if  you  have  cunningly 
shaped  them  into  a  story  of  progressive  and  accumulative 
action;  if  you  have  done  all  this,  though  you  may  not  have 
used  a  single  word  but  what  is  spoken  in  ordinary  American 
intercourse  to-day,  I  will  venture  to  say  that  you  have 
written  a  piece  of  live  American  literature." 


All  of  our  literary  men  have  been  interested  in  the  theatre. 
One  of  the  Dunlap  publications  2  gives  opening  addresses  in 
verse  written  by  Washington  Irving,  Fitz-Greene  Halleck, 
Bret  Harte,  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  and  others  on  occasions 
when  theatres  were  opened.  Percy  Mackaye  is  a  recent 
type  of  the  occasional  poet,  having  read  lines  when  the 
corner-stone  for  the  New  Theatre  was  laid.  But  our  literary 
men,  whether  of  America  or  of  England,  have  always  had  a 
hidden  contempt  for  the  theatre.  This  was  largely  because 
they  identified  drama  with  the  theatrical  life  which  supports 
it.  Washington  Irving's  interest  in  the  theatre  brought 

1  See  a  lecture  by  Jones  delivered  at  Yale  University,  entitled 
"Literature  and  the  Modern  Drama;"  published  in  the  Atlantic, 
December,  1906,  pp.  796-807. 

2  No.  3,  1867. 


66  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

him  in  close  touch  with  John  Howard  Payne,  who  was  abetted 
in  his  career  by  Edmund  Kean.  Payne  had  not  only  been 
an  actor  himself,  becoming  a  friend  of  Talma,  but  he  was 
brought  up  in  the  school  of  Home's  "  Douglas." 

John  Augustus  Stone  (1801-1834), l  likewise,  was  an  actor, 
and  approached  play  writing  from  the  inside.  His  "Meta- 
mora"  took  the  prize  offered  by  Forrest  for  the  best  American 
play.  Where  this  actor  was  beneficial  to  the  native  play 
wright  was  in  the  fact  that  he  paid  well  for  what  he  wanted, 
while  the  American  manager  of  that  day  could  bring  plays 
from  England,  or  translate  continental  successes,  with  little 
or  no  expense. 

Forrest  stood  sponsor  for  Richard  Penn  Smith,  author 
of  "Caius  Marius,"  and  likewise  presented  Robert  Mont 
gomery  Bird's  (1803-1854)  "The  Gladiator"  (1831)  in  a 
bold  and  impressive  manner.  The  Philadelphia  physician, 
who  was  likewise  a  novelist,  wrote  in  addition  "The  Broker 
of  Bogota."  2  But  perhaps  Forrest's  most  powerful  repre 
sentation,  because  of  its  democratic  spirit,  wras  his  role  in 
Robert  T.  Conrad's  (1810-1858) 3  "Jack  Cade;  or,  The 
Bondman  of  Kent"  (1868),  a  play  of  patriotic  scope.  His 
acting  in  this  piece  was  fierce  with  "  the  most  intense  feeling 
of  the  wrongs  and  charms  of  the  oppressed  common  people." 
One  contemporary  account  speaks  of  his  being  "a  sort  of 
dramatic  Demosthenes,  rousing  the  cowardly  and  slum- 

1  Stone  produced  a  tragedy  "Fauntleroy,"  Charleston,  S.  C.; 
he  also  wrote  "The  Demoniac;"  "Tancred;"  "The  Restoration;  or, 
The  Diamond  Cross;"  "The  Ancient  Briton"  (1833);    and  "The 
Golden  Fleece."    He  killed  himself. 

2  His  other  dramas  were  "Oraloosa"  (1832);  "The  Cowled  Lover;" 
"Caridorf."     See  Wemyss:    "Twenty-six  Years    of    the    Life    of 
an  Actor." 

3  Conrad   was   a   Philadelphia    lawyer.      James    E.    Murdoch 
presented  his  "Conrad  of  Naples"  (1832).    "Jack  Cade"  was  first 
given  by  Addams  as  "Aylmere."    Conrad  accepted  many  political 
offices. 


OUR  LITERARY  AND   CLOSET-DRAMA     07 

berous  hosts  of  mankind  to  redeem  themselves  with  their 
own  right  hands." 

The  only  connection  Forrest  had  with  Willis  was  to  horse 
whip  him  in  Washington  Square,  New  York,  for  some 
scandal  in  the  divorce  suit  then  pending  between  the  actor 
and  his  wife.  Whatever  claims  Willis  had  dramatically 
were  furthered  by  Wallack.  But  there  is  no  doubt  that 
among  the  closet-dramatists,  Willis  may  be  taken  as  a  not 
able  example,  criticised  in  a  contemporary  fashion  by  Poe. 
Most  literary  men  of  the  period  essayed  drama:  Charles 
Brockden  Brown  (1771-1810)  1  with  "Alcuin"  (1797); 
John  Neal  (1793-1876)  with  "Otho"  (1819);  George  P. 
Morris  (1802-1864)  with  "The  Maid  of  Saxony"  (1842); 
Thomas  H.  Chivers  (1807-1858)  with  "The  Sons  of  Usna" 
(1858);  W.  W.  Story  (1819-1895)  with  "Nero"  (1875)  and 
with  "Stephania"  (1875).2 

George  Henry  Boker  (1823-1890)  was  the  most  important 
of  the  Philadelphia  group,  a  man  of  leisure,  a  scholar,  and 
one  whose  culture  was  more  exact  and  polished  than  his 
passion  was  sincere.  Hans  Breitman  (C.  G.  Leland)  speaks 
of  Boker's  boyhood,  when  he  manifested  such  remarkable 
poetic  talents  that  Forrest,  in  a  broad  flood  of  enthusiasm, 
characterized  him  as  the  best  reader  in  America.  At  Prince 
ton,  Boker  gratified  every  artistic  taste,  and  gathered  in 
his  room  those  students  whose  interests  were  distinctly 
literary. 

He  then  studied  law,  and  traveled  abroad  until  1847. 
As  early  as  this,  Bayard  Taylor  recognized  in  him  a  close 
and  sympathetic  friend.  In  the  following  years,  Boker 
wrote  assiduously,  and  his  devotion  to  the  Union  cause 
during  the  Civil  War  is  seen  in  the  numberless  "Poems  of 
the  War"  which  came  from  his  pen.  In  1871,  Boker  began 

1  A  two- volume  Life  of  Brown  was  written  by  William  Dimlap. 

2  See  Wegelin  and  Roden. 


68  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

his  diplomatic  service,  being  sent  by  President  Grant  to 
Constantinople.  He  was  transferred  in  1875  to  St.  Peters 
burg,  where  he  gained  much  popularity  during  a  two  years' 
service. 

All  this  time,  his  poetic  talents  were  variously  directed 
toward  the  stage.  He  was  the  author  of  "Calaynos,"  a 
tragedy  given  at  Sadler's  Wells  Theatre,  London,  the  year 
after  its  publication  in  1848.  "  Francesca  da  Rimini "  (1853) 1 
is  his  most  famous  piece,  and  is  most  deserving  of  considera 
tion  in  a  theatrical  sense.  Boker's  art  temperament  is  well 
measured  in  the  following  from  the  pen  of  Richard  Henry 
Stoddard : 

"There  was  no  such  word  as  fail  in  his  bright  lexicon, 
wherein  failure  was  hammered  into  success.  I  was  not  sur 
prised  to  learn  therefore  [March,  1853]  .  .  .  that  he  had  a 
new  tragedy  on  the  anvil.  'You  will  laugh  at  this/  he  wrote, 
'but  the  thing  is  so;  "Francesca  da  Rimini"  is  the  title. 
Of  course  you  know  the  story  —  every  one  does;  but  you, 
nor  any  one  else,  do  not  know  it  as  I  have  treated  it.  I  have 
great  faith  in  the  successful  issue  of  this  new  attempt.  I 
think  all  day,  and  write  all  night.  This  is  one  of  my  pecu 
liarities,  by  the  bye:  a  subject  seizes  me,  soul  and  body, 
which  accounts  for  the  rapidity  of  my  execution.  My  muse 
resembles  a  whirlwind :  she  catches  me  up,  hurries  me  along, 
and  drops  me  all  breathless  at  the  end  of  her  career/  The 
great  heat  at  which  'Lear'  and  'Julius  Caesar'  were  prob 
ably  written,  at  which  we  know  'The  Prisoner  of  Chillon' 
was  written,  at  which  'A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon'  is  said  to 
have  been  written,  were  inherent  in  the  dramatic  genius  of 

1  He  also  wrote  "AnneBoleyn,"  "Leonorde  Guzman,"  "The  Be 
trothal,"  and  "The  Widow's  Marriage."  He  was  one  of  the  founders 
of  the  Union  League  Club,  in  Philadelphia.  For  biographical  data, 
etc.,  see  Critic,  Jan.  11,  1890;  Critic,  April  12,  1890;  Critic,  April 
14,  1888  (G.  P.  Lathrop) ;  Lippincott,  June,  1890  (R.  H.  Stoddard) ; 
Atlantic,  March,  1890  (Contributor's  Club). 


OUR  LITERARY  AND   CLOSET-DRAMA     69 

Boker,  from  whom,  at  the  end  of  nineteen  days,  I  received 
another  letter,  which  I  found  very  interesting:  'Now  that 
"Francesca  da  Rimini"  is  done,  all  but  the  polishing,  I 
have  time  to  look  around  and  see  how  I  have  been  neglect 
ing  my  friends  during  my  state  of  possession.  Of  course 
you  wish  to  know  my  opinion  of  the  bantling:  I  shall  sup 
pose  you  do,  at  all  events.  Well,  then,  I  am  better  satisfied 
with  "Francesca  da  Rimini"  than  with  any  of  my  previous 
plays.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  say  what  you,  or  the  world, 
will  say  of  it;  but  if  it  do  not  please  you  both,  I  do  not  know 
what  I  am  about.  The  play  is  more  dramatic  than  former 
ones,  fiercer  in  its  displays  of  intense  passions,  and,  so  far 
as  mere  poetry  goes,  not  inferior,  if  not  superior,  to  any 
of  them.  In  this  play  I  have  dared  more,  risked  more, 
than  I  ever  had  courage  to  do  before.  Ergo,  if  it  be  not  a 
great  triumph,  it  will  certainly  be  a  great  failure.  I  doubt 
whether  you  in  a  hundred  guesses  could  hit  upon  the  man 
ner  in  which  I  have  treated  the  story.  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
prejudice  you  regarding  the  play;  I  would  rather  have  you 
judge  for  yourself,  even  if  your  decision  be  adverse.  Am 
I  not  the  devil  and  all  for  rapid  composition?  My  speed 
frightens  me,  and  makes  me  fearful  of  the  merits  of  my 
work.  Yet  on  coolly  going  over  my  work,  I  find  little  to 
object  to,  either  as  to  the  main  design  or  its  details ;  I  touch 
up,  here  and  there,  but  I  do  little  more.  The  reason  for 
my  rapid  writing  is  that  I  never  attempt  putting  pen  to 
paper  before  my  design  is  perfectly  matured.  I  never  start 
with  one  idea,  trusting  to  the  glow  of  poetical  composition 
for  the  remainder.  That  will  do  in  lyrical  poetry,  but  it  would 
be  death  and  damnation  to  dramatic.  But  just  think  of 
it!  —  Twenty-eight  hundred  lines  in  about  three  weeks  1 
To  look  back  upon  such  labor  is  appalling!  Let  me  give 
you  the  whole  history  of  my  manner  of  composition  in  a 
few  words.  If  it  be  not  interesting  to  you,  you  differ  from 


70  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

me,  and  I  mistake  the  kind  of  matters  that  interest  you. 
While  I  am  writing,  I  eat  little,  I  drink  nothing,  I  meditate 
my  work,  literally,  all  day.  By  the  time  night  arrives,  I 
am  in  a  highly  nervous  and  excited  state.  About  nine 
o'clock,  I  begin  writing  and  smoking,  and  I  continue  the 
two  exercises,  pari  passu,  until  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  Then  I  reel  to  bed,  half-crazy  with  cigar-smoke 
and  poesy,  sleep  five  hours,  and  begin  the  next  day  as  the 
former.  Ordinarily,  I  sleep  from  seven  to  eight  hours,  but 
when  I  am  writing,  but  five,  —  simply  because  I  cannot 
sleep  any  longer  at  such  times.  The  consequence  of  this 
mode  of  life  is,  that  at  the  end  of  a  long  work  I  sink  at  once 
like  a  spent  horse,  and  have  not  energy  enough  to  perform 
the  ordinary  duties  of  life.  I  feel  my  health  giving  way 
under  it,  but  really  I  do  not  care.  I  am  ambitious  to  be 
numbered  among  the  martyrs/" 

Loyal  as  Stoddard  was  to  his  friend,  we  find  him  writing 
in  this  critical  vein: 

"The  conception  of  his  tragedies  and  comedies,  their 
development,  their  movement,  and  their  catastrophes, 
are  dramatic.  Poetical,  they  are  not  overweighted  with 
poetry;  emotional  and  passionate,  their  language  is  natu 
rally  figurative,  and  the  blank  verse  rises  and  falls  as  the 
occasion  demands.  One  feels  in  reading  them  that  the 
writer  had  studied  the  Elizabethan  and  Jacobean  dramatists, 
and  that  they  harmed  as  well  as  helped  him.  If  he  could 
have  forgotten  them  and  remembered  only  his  own  genius, 
his  work  would  have  been  more  original.  A  born  dramatist, 
he  was  a  genuine  balladist,  as  I  could  prove  by  comparing 
his  ballads  with  those  of  Macaulay;  and  a  born  sonneteer, 
as  I  could  prove  by  comparing  his  sonnets  with  those  of 
Sidney,  Spenser,  Daniel,  and  Shakespeare."  1 

1  "Francesca  da  Rimini "  was  first  produced  at  the  old  Broadway 
Theatre  in  1855,  with  E.  L.  Davenport  and  Mme.  Ponisi;  revived 


OUR  LITERARY   AND   CLOSET-DRAMA    71 

Boker's  "Francesca  da  Rimini"  is  a  peculiarly  contra 
dictory  piece  of  work,  since,  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
stage,  it  is  essentially  and  effectively  dramatic,  while  as 
literature,  it  is  mediocre  and  badly  imitative  of  the  Eliza 
bethan  style.  So  imbued  was  Boker  with  the  method  of  his 
models,  that  he  often  paralleled  Shakespeare,  his  poetic 
imagery  being  imitative,  and  his  phraseology  disappointingly 
colloquial.  Yet  over  and  above  the  mere  story,  Boker  has 
succeeded  in  depicting  distinct  character,  especially  in  his 
dwarf,  Pepe.  The  historical  setting  is  slight,  yet  sufficient 
to  localize  the  piece,  and  the  dramatis  personce  are  faithful 
in  outline,  though  oftentimes  devoid  of  consuming  passion. 

Should  you  take  the  different  versions  of  the  Francesca 
legend,  based  on  Dante's  episodical  mention  of  it  in  "The 
Divine  Comedy,"  it  would  be  found  that  Phillips,  as  a 
dramatist,  has  the  fault  of  being  diffuse,  while  Boker  is 
prosaic  and  plain.  Were  it  not  for  over-elaboration,  D'An- 
nunzio's  play  might  have  supplanted  all  others  on  the  same 
subject,  because  of  its  Italian  spirit.  Could  we  draw  from 
Phillips  his  simple  lyricism,  from  D'Annunzio  his  intensity, 
from  Boker  his  proportion,  and  from  Marion  Crawford  his 
realization  of  the  true  situation,  toned  away  from  melo 
drama,  then  the  ideal  play  might  be  constructed.  But  Boker 
is  thoroughly  actable,  and  is  not  unworthy  of  revival. 

The  attitude  toward  the  closet-drama  is  purely  one  of 
culture.  A  pseudo-interest  in  the  grandiloquent  style  has 
resulted  in  that  separation  of  literature  from  the  dramatic 
form,  and  as  soon  as  one  realizes  that  literature  is  inherent 
in  the  substance  and  in  the  structure,  so  soon  will  ornamen- 

by  Lawrence  Barrett  and  Marie  Wainwright,  at  McVickar's  Theatre, 
Chicago,  Nov.  6,  1882,  and  by  Otis  Skinner,  William  Norris,  and 
Marcia  Van  Dresser,  at  the  Grand  Opera  House,  Chicago,  August 
22,  1901.  After  the  success  of  the  piece  in  1882,  Boker  wrote  to 
Barrett:  "Why  did  n't  I  receive  this  encouragement  twenty  years 
ago?  Then  I  might  have  done  something." 


72  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

tation  cease  to  be  strung  in  useless  festoons  upon  the  neces 
sary  dialogue.  For  in  all  plays  there  is  essential  talk  even 
as  there  are  Sarcey's  scenes  a  faire.  It  is  a  false  idea  of 
culture  that  created  a  false  idea  of  closet-drama.  For  though 
the  theatre  is  based  on  imitation,  it  cannot  abide  a  mis 
use  of  its  essential  structure  in  order  to  be  called  literature. 
More  than  any  other  critic,  Professor  Brander  Matthews  has 
persisted,  in  his  writings,  that  the  drama  must  comply  with 
the  practical  demands  of  the  playhouse  in  order  to  be  drama. 
Pointing  to  the  body  of  dramaturgy  which  has  come  down 
to  us,  he  has  been  firm  in  his  claim  that  "  only  literature  is 
permanent."  And  so,  we  arrive  at  the  same  conclusion  which 
shall  come  to  us  in  a  consideration  of  the  poetic  drama. 
We  will  accept  drama  in  any  form,  just  so  it  be  drama  first 
of  all. 

The  very  rapid  historical  sketch  contained  in  Chapters  III  and 
IV  must  needs  take  into  consideration  the  extensive  additions  to 
our  knowledge  of  the  history  of  early  American  drama  since  1910. 
Texts  are  now  made  available  which,  heretofore,  were  considered 
rare.  The  present  author  has  issued  three  volumes  of  "  Repre 
sentative  American  Dramas"  which,  in  the  early  periods,  include 
Thomas  Godfrey's  "The  Prince  of  Parthia"  (1765),  Robert  Rogers' 
"Ponteach;  or,  The  Savages  of  America"  (1766),  Mercy  Warren's 
"The  Group"  (1775),  Hugh  Henry  Brackenridge's  "The  Battle  of 
Bunker's-Hill  (1776),  John  Leacock's  "The  Fall  of  British  Tyranny" 
(1776),  Samuel  Low's  "The  Politician  Outwitted"  (1789),  Royall 
Tyler's  "The  Contrast"  (1790),  Dunlap's  "Andre""  (1799),  J.  N. 
Barker's  "Indian  Princess"  (1808),  and  M.  M.  Noah's  "She  Would 
Be  a  Soldier"  (1819). 

In  addition  to  this,  many  plays  of  the  intermediate  period  are 
included  in  the  second  volume,  Payne's  "Brutus,"  Boker's  "Fran- 
cesca  da  Rimini,"  Conrad's  "Jack  Cade,"  Willis's  "Tortesa,"  being 
representative  of  the  type. 

In  editing  the  plays  included  in  his  three-volume  edition  of 
"Representative  American  Dramas,"  the  present  author  has 
given  a  running  commentary  on  particular  periods  of  American 
drama,  in  the  introductions  accompanying  each  play.  This,  in  a 
way,  supplements  and  makes  more  thorough  the  study  suggested  in 
the  preceding  chapters.  Bibliographies  of  individual  dramatists 
are  included. 


CHAPTER  V 
BRONSON  HOWARD:  DEAN  OF  THE  AMERICAN 

DRAMA 

As  Dean  of  the  American  Drama,  Bronson  Howard  occupies 
a  most  significant  position.  The  theatre  is  a  very  sensitive 
barometer,  registering  current  ideas  and  local  manners,  and 
if  one  should  range  Mrs.  Mowatt's  "Fashion"  (1847),  Mrs. 
Bateman's  "Self"  (1856),  and  Mr.  Howard's  "Saratoga" 
(1870)  side  by  side,  the  timely  differences  would  be  very 
strikingly  felt.  The  point  of  view  held  by  Mr.  Howard 
just  before  his  death  had  a  broad  sweep  toward  the  future 
and  a  very  vital  sweep  along  the  past.  For,  in  respect  to 
the  latter  position,  he  was  able  to  estimate  the  value  of  that 
dramatic  soil  and  of  those  dramatic  traditions  from  which 
he  sprung;  he  was  so  situated  that  he  could  step  aside  from 
the  main  current,  and  note  wherein  the  later  drama  had 
profited  by  its  inheritance. 

It  is  unfortunate  that  in  the  years  to  come,  the  estimate 
of  Mr.  Howard,  based  upon  his  numerous  popular  successes, 
will  not  be  a  very  high  one,  even  though  "The  Banker's 
Daughter"  and  "Aristocracy"  are  marked  with  a  certain 
literary  quality.  This  stricture  is  partly  due  to  the  fact  that 
he  wrote  at  a  time  when  our  American  stage  was  flooded 
with  French  imitations  or  importations;  when,  as  Mr. 
Howard  himself  declared,  adaptations  for  the  English  speak 
ing  stage  not  only  meant  a  change  to  English  life  and  English 
characters,  but  meant  also  that  in  the  transference,  these 


74  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

characters  continued  "to  express  foreign  ideas  and  to  act 
like  foreigners." 

But  Mr.  Howard's  right  to  the  title  of  Dean  of  the  Ameri 
can  Drama  can  never  be  disputed,  for,  whatever  is  done  in 
the  future  to  enrich  our  native  dramaturgic  literature,  it 
will  have  been  through  the  efforts  of  Mr.  Howard  that  the 
first  impetus  toward  that  efflorescence  was  given.  In  the 
early  seventies  he  stood  single-handed,  with  the  Anglicism 
and  classicism  of  Daly,  Palmer,  and  Wallack  as  his  chiefest 
opposition,  and  he  forced  the  public  gaze  upon  current  thought 
and  manners.  So  as  to  accomplish  this  object,  he  was  obliged 
to  have  recourse  to  conventions  more  French  than  they  were 
American.  What  is  of  most  importance  is  that  Mr.  Howard 
by  his  plays  established  the  fact  of  the  American  drama's 
existence  —  plays  in  a  way  far  more  native  than  those 
romantic  pieces  by  George  Boker  and  the  Philadelphia 
group.  It  is  an  unfortunate  possibility,  however,  that  unless 
our  dramatic  literature  emphasizes  the  essential  elements 
from  which  our  national  drama  has  come,  Mr.  Howard  in 
the  future  will  be  little  more  than  a  name  to  theatre-goers, 
outside  of  the  profession.  For  his  plays  are  hardly  literary  in 
the  sense  that  they  possess  reading  style  or  grace.  That  is 
to  be  deplored,  inasmuch  as  Mr.  Howard,  intellectually, 
was  of  a  high  type  of  mind,  while  as  Dean  he  always  sup 
ported  that  which  aimed  to  be  the  best. 

It  were  futile  indeed  to  regard  Mr.  Howard  as  a  producing 
playwright  from  any  other  angle  of  vision  than  that  of  his 
day.  His  technique,  his  observation,  his  locale,  are  of  a  gener 
ation  that  is  gone;  and  though  the  humanity  of  his  charac 
ters  still  retain  acting  possibilities,  the  American  drama  of 
to-day  is  subject  to  far  different  influences.  We  are  now 
passing  through  the  fires  of  scientific  query  and  realistic 
handling  of  the  sex  question.  Dion  Boucicault,  as  recent 
as  1890,  only  vaguely  felt  that  there  was  something  in  Ibsen 


BRONSON  HOWARD  75 

which  demanded  what  he  called  serious  regard.  Long  before 
this  storm  and  stress  period  in  stage  history,  Mr.  Howard's 
method  was  so  far  crystallized  as  to  remain  unaffected  by 
later  technique.  And  toward  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  it 
was  curious  to  behold  in  him  a  man  intellectually  so  far  in 
advance  of  his  method  of  writing.  For,  despite  Ibsen  and 
Zola  and  Tolstoi;  despite  Ho  wells  and  James  and  Meredith; 
despite  Pinero  and  Jones  and  Shaw,  Mr.  Howard's  last 
comedy,  "  Kate,"  is  untouched  by  current  influences,  however 
much  it  strove  to  be  modern.  In  this  play  his  ideas  of 
life  deepened,  his  technical  grasp  became  firmer,  his  insight 
keener,  but  his  discussions  were  all  clad  in  form  typical  of 
"The  Banker's  Daughter,"  "One  of  Our  Girls,"  and  "The 
Henrietta." 

Before  1870,  the  American  Drama  was  very  broadly  and 
very  crudely  manipulated  in  two  directions:  American 
history  and  the  American  type  were  chiefly  to  be  reckoned 
with.  We  find  long  lists  of  Indian  plays,  of  Revolutionary 
dramas,  of  spectaculars  unfolding  the  marvels  of  coloni 
zation  and  the  successes  of  1812.  These  early  pieces  are 
all  forgotten,  save  one  perhaps  —  the  "Metamora"  of 
Judge  Stone,  so  closely  identified  with  the  personality  of 
Edwin  Forrest.  The  Indian  plays,  as  a  genre,  before  1846, 
were  not,  however,  any  more  common  than  the  American 
types  which  dominated  the  boards  in  such  mushroom  thick 
ness  that  the  elder  Hackett  followed  one  play  of  the  kind 
with  another;  and  his  rival  actor,  Hill,  became  popularly 
known  as  "Yankee  "Hill. 

It  is  customary  for  the  dramatic  historian  of  to-day  to 
discount  the  influence  of  the  character  type  on  the  American 
stage  —  a  type  which  disappeared  usually  with  the  pass 
ing  of  the  actor  who  created  it.  But  the  value  of  W.  J. 
Florence's  Bardwell  Slote,  of  John  T.  Raymond's  Mulberry 
Sellers,  of  Murdoch's  and  Mayo's  Davy  Crockett,  of  Chan- 


76  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

frau's  Mose,  and  of  Jefferson's  Asa  Trenchard,  lay  in  the  fact 
that  they  helped  to  create  in  the  minds  of  theatre-goers  a 
belief  in  national  distinctions;  they  helped  to  preserve 
American  characteristics  on  the  stage,  however  cartoon  the 
pictures  might  have  been.  All  drama  must  thus  work  itself 
out  from  extravagance  to  refinement. 

When  Mr.  Howard  began  to  write  for  the  theatre,  the 
influence  of  Scribe,  and  his  manner  of  unfolding  plot  and 
counterplot,  had  not  yet  been  succeeded  by  a  more  natural 
method  of  development.  Dumas,  fils,  with  "  Camille,"  had 
injected  into  the  romantic  play  of  intrigue  and  infidelity,  a 
species  of  emotional  analysis  which  was  somehow  mistaken 
for  an  ethical  purpose.  Furthermore,  Robertson  and  Taylor, 
borrowing  freely  from  the  elder  Dumas  and  Hugo  on  one 
hand,  and  from  the  comedy  of  incident  and  manner  on  the 
other,  simply  Anglicized  the  French  form  of  drama  for  the 
English  stage.  Mr.  Howard  found  such  to  be  the  conditions 
when  he  began  his  struggles. 

He  found  that  English  managers  realized  it  was  less  ex 
pensive,  and  involved  less  risk,  to  employ  Boucicault,1  for 
example,  to  translate  French  plays,  to  adapt  them,  as  they 
phrased  it,  than  to  experiment  with  a  new  play  that  had 
never  been  tried  upon  the  public  He  found  that  in  America 
the  situation  was  very  much  the  same.  Popular  opinion 
was  led  to  value  an  importation,  and  to  discount  any  serious 
treatment  of  American  character  or  of  American  life.  He 
found,  finally,  that  there  was  only  half-hearted  interest  in 
the  American  drama  on  the  part  of  two  of  the  leading  managers 
of  that  era,  however  much  they  might  write  encouragingly 
of  the  subject  in  current  reviews  or  in  their  reminiscences. 
Lester  Wallack  in  no  way  encouraged  native  talent,  even 
though  his  excellence  as  a  stage  manager  helped  to  give  the 

1  See  my  "Famous  Actor-Families  in  America"  for  a  chapter  on 
"The  Boucicaults." 


BRONSON  HOWARD  77 

theatre  an  abundant  amount  of  English  comedy  and  tragedy; 
even  though  he  was  author  of  a  local  play  called  "Central 
Park."  1  The  same  may  well  be  claimed  of  Augustin  Daly, 
who  nevertheless  aimed  to  be  American  in  "Under  the  Gas 
light."  But  his  was  likewise  a  foreign  ambition,  for  he 
mounted  adaptations  of  French  and  German  farces  whenever 
he  wished  to  depart  from  the  Shakespearean  or  classical 
comedy  repertoire  of  his  New  York  theatres;  he  catered  dis 
tinctively  to  culture,  and  how  well  he  succeeded  is  measured 
by  the  atmosphere  which  for  so  long  a  while  after  his  death 
clung  to  his  Broadway  playhouse  at  Thirtieth  Street. 

Of  the  three  prominent  managers,  A.  M.  Palmer  may  be 
said  to  have  done  the  most  to  have  encouraged  native  dra 
matic  ability.  He  and  Mr.  Daly  were  both  involved  in  the 
development  of  Bronson  Howard. 

Such  is  the  setting  to  aid  us  in  claiming  for  this  writer  the 
full  appropriateness  of  the  title:  Dean  of  the  American 
Drama.  Mr.  Howard  was  born  at  Detroit  in  1842,  during 
a  time  when  that  city  was  considered  the  extreme  West. 
To  undertake  a  journey  there  from  the  East  was  a  notable 
accomplishment,  and  in  one  of  James  Fenimore  Cooper's 
numerous  autobiographical  references,  we  find  him  boast 
ing  of  the  feat.  In  the  "Leatherstocking"  series,  moreover, 
one  of  the  characters  was  based  on  Mr.  Howard's  father  — 
a  man  of  adventurous  nature,  of  firm  disposition  and  deter 
mination  —  a  man,  in  fine,  of  the  pioneer  type.  The  intense 
American  strain  in  this  family  reaches  back  as  far  as  1759, 
when  one  of  the  Howards  came  over  from  England  with 
Wolfe's  army,  and,  strange  to  say,  almost  immediately  began 
to  realize  that  the  colonies  were  right  in  their  attitude  toward 
the  mother-country.  This  sympathy  increased  to  such  an 
extent  that  Howard  enlisted  with  the  "rebel"  forces  during 

1  See  my  "Famous  Actor-Families  in  America"  for  a  chapter  on 
"The  Wallacks." 


78  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

the  Revolution  —  an  act  that  resulted  in  his  death  on  the 
field  at  Monmouth,  New  Jersey. 

Mr.  Howard's  grandfather  was  quick  to  catch  the  West 
ward  spirit,  though  loath  to  break  from  the  East.  He  was  a 
roving  farmer  who  moved  from  Howard's  Settlement  on 
Lake  Ontario,  thence  to  a  point  in  New  York  State,  near 
the  St.  Lawrence  River,  and  he  instilled  into  his  own  son  that 
same  instinct  to  migrate  which  had  prompted  the  Revolu 
tionary  sire  to  roam  from  place  to  place. 

Mr.  Howard's  father  was  a  commission  merchant  in  De 
troit  at  the  time  of  his  son's  birth.  He  had  been  a  captain 
of  a  schooner  in  the  days  when  sea-faring  encouraged  muti 
nous  crews — composed  mostly  of  a  cursing,  grog-beset,  brutal 
type  of  sailor.  But  Howard,  Sr.,  was  of  a  different  calibre 
from  most  sea  commanders.  He  banished  the  freedom  of 
oaths  from  the  deck;  he  cleared  the  lockers  and  holds  of  all 
grog;  he  insisted  upon  discipline  which  his  friends  told  him 
could  never  be  maintained  where  grog  was  denied.  His 
actions  as  commander  hastened  the  establishment  of  liquor 
regulations  in  the  maritime  service,  and  abolished  from 
its  prominent  position  on  deck  the  water-cooler  which  had 
up  to  this  time  been  filled  with  grog  for  anyone  who  cared 
to  turn  the  faucet.  His  immediate  reward  was  that  he  ob 
tained  differential  rates  of  insurance  which  other  seamen 
coveted,  but  were  denied.  Bronson  Howard  was  proud  of 
this  bit  of  family  history. 

Without  giving  up  entire  interest  in  the  ship  business, 
Howard,  Sr.,  joined  the  firm  of  Alvin  Bronson  and  Company, 
Bronson,  after  whom  the  young  man  was  named,  being  at  one 
time  State  Senator  at  Albany  from  Oswego  County.  In 
some  of  the  early  playbills  we  find  the  full  name  of  the  dram 
atist  recorded  as  Bronson  Crocker  Howard,  Mr.  Crocker 
being  another  partner  of  the  firm.  Many  of  his  journalistic 
friends  used  to  address  him  as  B.  C.  Howard,  though  he 


BRONSON  HOWARD  79 

preferred  the  shorter  form  as  more  distinctive  and  individual 
istic. 

From  1842  to  1858,  therefore,  young  Howard  remained 
in  Detroit,  long  enough  to  secure  the  rudiments  of  an  edu 
cation,  to  see  his  father  Mayor  of  the  city  (1849),  and  to 
develop  what  his  father  bequeathed  him  —  an  inventive 
taste  which  expanded  later  and  aided  him,  when  ingenuity 
was  required  of  him  behind  the  scenes  at  the  theatre. 

Howard,  Sr.,  was  accustomed  to  whittle  rough  vessels 
from  blocks  of  wood;  this  we  may  consider  as  symbol  of  the 
mechanical  side  of  dramatic  construction.  In  fact,  before 
the  Prismatic  Club  of  Detroit,  Mr.  Howard  once  claimed 
that  the  mechanical  engineer  and  the  dramatist  required 
essentially  the  same  technical  training.  He  afterwards, 
before  the  students  of  Harvard  University,  reasserted  this,  in 
connection  with  his  play,  "The  Banker's  Daughter." 

Young  Howard  was  now  sent  East  to  prepare  for  Yale,  — 
the  class  of  1865;  but  though  General  Russell's  preparatory 
school  did  its  work  successfully,  nature  went  against  the 
scheme,  and  Howard's  eyes  failed  him  in  1860.  Later,  he  was 
granted  the  privilege  of  attending  a  few  lectures  with  his 
class,  but  he  was  never  able  to  matriculate. 

During  this  time,  the  written  drama  as  a  profession  was 
farthest  from  his  thoughts.  He  had  manufactured  a  few 
skits  for  his  school,  and  had  become  unswerving  in  his  deter 
mination  not  to  enter  a  trade.  In  fact,  stimulated  by  the 
books  and  by  the  lecturing  of  Bayard  Taylor,  Howard  was 
bent  on  becoming  a  writer.  With  this  phase  we  must  now 
deal,  for  it  will  indicate  how  subtly  and  how  surely  natural 
inclination  asserts  itself.  Unknowingly,  we  are  led  whither 
our  tastes  prompt  us,  and  Howard's  first  literary  effort,  based 
upon  a  purely  literary  enthusiasm  for  the  then  recently 
published  American  translation  of  "  Les  Mise*rables,"  proved 
to  be  a  play. 


80  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

With  all  the  confidence  of  youth,  he  persuaded  a  manager 
to  let  him  attempt  a  drama  called  "Fantine,"  based  on 
some  of  the  Hugo  incidents.  It  was  played  by  a  local 
stock  company,  managed  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
day.  The  "star"  was  the  only  one  to  travel,  going  from 
one  city  to  another,  in  each  of  which  a  stock  company  was 
ready  to  support  him.  When  written,  this  crude  first  at 
tempt  was  found  to  be  unfit  for  the  practical  side  of  the 
theatre;  with  all  the  inexperience  of  the  inexperienced 
amateur,  Howard  had  expanded  the  first  act  until  it  was 
sufficiently  long  to  be  a  play  in  itself.  But,  undaunted,  he 
set  about  pruning  and  cutting.  What  man  can  ever  expect 
to  become  a  playwright  without  that  energetic  willingness  to 
slave,  labor,  and  hope?  Mr.  Howard  always  possessed  to  a 
large  degree  the  unfailing  optimism  of  the  true  craftsman, 
and  he  once  said,  after  he  had  gone  through  thirty-eight 
years  of  theatre  service :  "  I  never  can  understand  the  doubts 
as  to  whether  one  can  do  a  play,  if  he  really  has  it  in  him;  he 
just  goes  and  does  it  without  questioning."  This  determin 
ation  which  Mr.  Howard  always  preached  was  an  inspiration 
to  his  younger  associates,  and  to  many  of  them  he  used  to 
say,  "When  you  find  yourself  standing  in  the  way  of  dra 
matic  truth,  clear  the  track!" 

An  interesting  state  of  affairs  existed  in  those  days,  ex 
cellently  illustrated  by  the  fate  of  "Fantine."  This  play 
was  never  published;  in  fact,  for  a  long  while  Mr.  Howard 
considered  the  manuscript  as  lost.  The  only  trace  of  it  to 
be  had  was  a  "skeleton"  copy  which  it  was  customary  to 
give  to  the  prompter:  that  is,  the  play  with  all  the  leading 
parts  omitted,  and  only  the  cues  as  a  guide.  This  "  skeleton  " 
precaution  was  necessary  because  of  the  copyright  weak 
ness  which  allowed  all  kinds  of  piracy  to  be  committed  in 
the  profession.  There  were  slight  means  of  protecting  the 
author's  property  in  those  days,  a  fact  which  added  to  Mr. 


BRONSON  HOWARD  81 

Howard's  interest  in  the  dramatic  copyright  debates.  Under 
such  conditions,  it  would  never  do  to  allow  the  prompter 
to  have  in  his  possession  the  entire  manuscript.  The  "  skele 
ton"  was  of  small  value  to  Mr.  Howard;  but  fortunately, 
the  "leads"  being  extant,  they  turned  up  unexpectedly  some 
years  after,  and  were  dropped  into  the  setting  like  missing 
stones  in  a  mosaic. 

The  eventful  year  of  1864,  therefore,  found  Bronson 
Howard  making  a  start  as  playwright.  Another  interest 
was  drawing  him  to  the  stage,  for  he  was  serving  a  Detroit 
paper  as  dramatic  critic  and  besides,  was  reading  plays  for 
his  own  amusement,  familiarizing  himself  with  the  historical 
development  of  playwriting,  which  is  a  necessary  acquisition 
for  dignified  theatre  work. 

These  were  war  times,  but  young  Howard  does  not  seem 
to  have  been  drawn  into  the  vortex,  until  it  was  rumored 
that  an  invasion  of  the  Union  was  to  be  attempted  by  the 
English  from  Canada.  For  several  nights,  in  consequence, 
Howard  tramped  the  shores  of  the  Lake,  waiting  in  the  dark 
ness  for  momentary  attack,  and  experiencing  all  the  excite 
ment  that  comes  before  a  battle.  There  was  no  invasion, 
so  he  left  Detroit  in  1865,  and  landed  in  the  Tribune  office, 
New  York,  where  he  was  detailed  as  reporter  to  write  up 
the  novel  opening  of  the  season  at  Coney  Island.  From 
1867,  intermittently  until  1872,  Howard  attended  isolated 
lectures,  but  most  of  his  energies  were  expended  on  journal 
ism,  in  a  day  when  newspapers  were  being  quickly  founded, 
and  were  as  rapidly  changing  hands. 

In  the  usual  journalistic  career,  which,  as  we  have  said, 
is  so  characteristic  of  many  of  our  native  playwrights,  Mr. 
Howard's  history  is  exceptional.  For  he  was  trained  in  a 
newspaper  school  that  produced  Whitelaw  Reid,  and  from 
1868  to  1872  he  was  filling  varied  positions  on  many  editorial 
staffs.  He  received  his  first  honorarium  as  dramatic  critic, 


82  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

under  Charles  H.  Sweetzer,  who  founded  The  Round  Table, 
a  precursor  of  The  Nation,  and  was  next  sent  to  report  the 
Yale  commencement  and  the  Yale-Harvard  boat  race,  for 
the  Evening  Gazette.  It  was  while  on  the  latter  paper  that 
one  of  his  associate  reporters  was  assigned  a  notable  task  — 
to  follow  up  and  describe  how  the  first  bag  of  mail  was  brought 
to  New  York  from  Philadelphia,  an  incident  which  was  the 
beginning  of  the  post-office  system  on  its  present  gigantic 
scale. 

Howard  then  followed  Sweetzer  to  his  new  paper,  The 
Mail,  assuming  the  nominal  office  of  first  president  of  the 
Mail  Association.  But  the  paper  was  sold  in  1870,  and  John 
Russell  Young  then  employed  Howard  on  the  Tribune, 
making  him  exchange  editor.  Toward  the  latter  part  of 
1871,  he  went  over  to  the  Post,  continuing  his  journalistic 
career,  despite  his  intervening  dramatic  ventures,  through 
1876,  during  which  year  he  wrote  Centennial  articles  for  the 
London  Pall  Mall  Magazine,  and  for  the  Detroit  Free  Press. 
Before  this,  however,  his  determination  had  been  firmly 
settled  to  devote  all  of  his  energies  to  the  drama.  It  was 
probably  about  this  time  that  his  intimacy  with  Mr.  (now 
Sir)  Charles  Wyndham  began.  The  latter's  first  managerial 
venture  occurred  in  "Hurricanes,"  which,  written  by  Mr. 
Howard,  was  renamed  "Truth"  in  James  Albery's  adaptation 
for  England.  In  1880,  Miss^Wyndham  became  Mrs.  Bronson 
Howard. 

Despite  the  lethargic  state  in  which  Mr.  Howard  found 
the  American  dramatist,  and  despite  the  absolute  inertia  of 
the  American  drama  itself,  he  entered  the  contest  with  great 
energy.  So  thoroughly  were  foreign  models  dominant  on  the 
boards  that  he  later  confessed  how  one  of  his  earliest  manu 
scripts  contained  speeches  in  which  Newport  people  went 
about  exclaiming  "  Egad  I  "  in  real  eighteenth  century  style. 
Mr.  Howard  was  always  fully  aware  of  the  historical  changes 


Photo,  by  Ma 


RACHEL  CROTHKRS 


BRONSON  HOWARD  83 

in  drama,  the  shifting  of  social  attitudes,  of  moral  conven 
tionalities.  Every  dramatist,  unless  he  be  distinctly  a  re 
former,  is  loath  to  overstep  such  conventionalities.  Mrs. 
Inchbald,  in  one  of  her  dramatic  prefaces,  refers  to  play 
wrights  of  her  day  as  being  far  behind  the  period  in  method 
and  in  subject  matter;  yet  at  the  same  time  she  was  astounded 
to  find  Mrs.  Centilever  utilizing  the  clergy  in  one  of  her  plays ! 
It  took  years  for  the  stage  minister  to  make  his  appearance 
in  society  drama. 

Mr.  Howard  once  said  that  in  Rachel  Crothers'  "  The  Three 
of  Us,"  such  a  heroine  as  is  there  portrayed  —  one  who  enters 
a  man's  room  at  midnight,  to  outface  his  threats  and  to 
outwit  his  claim  that  he  will  compromise  her  —  was  thirty 
or  forty  years  in  coming.  Augustus  Thomas  has  announced 
that  he  held  "The  Witching  Hour"  in  his  desk  for  several 
seasons,  waiting  the  psychological  moment  when  public 
sentiment  would  be  alive  to  the  truth  of  hypnotism.  Ibsen 
trained  us  all  to  an  acceptance  of  heredity  as  a  stage  subject, 
and  he  confessed  in  his  correspondence  that  he  was  willing 
and  anxious  to  shock  average  conservatism,  without  waiting 
for  the  opportune  time  to  do  things.  He  was  always  in  ad 
vance  of  his  public;  hence  his  isolation  and  loneliness;  hence 
the  storms  of  protest  raised  against  him.  This  only  indi 
cates  the  sensitiveness  to  dramatic  change. 

Mr.  Howard  accepted  theatrical  convention  as  it  existed 
in  1870;  his  one  and  only  fight  was  for  the  recognition  of  the 
American  dramatist.  Just  before  Robertson  held  sway  in 
the  early  sixties  on  the  English  stage,  the  old  style  drama  was 
in  the  ascendancy;  nineteenth  century  people  were  viewing 
and  were  accepting  manners  of  another  era.  But  Robert 
son  gave  a  twist  to  such  a  state  of  affairs;  the  theatre  pendu 
lum  swung  back  to  its  normal  balance,  and  though  he  did 
not  entirely  free  himself  of  the  foreign  yoke  and  of  the 
earlier  romantic  influence,  Robertson  at  least  focussed  the 


84  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

glass  upon  contemporary  condition.  This  accounts  for 
such  a  play  as  "Caste";  it  explains  many  touches  in  the 
dramas  by  Bronson  Howard. 

From  "Saratoga"  (1870)  to  "Kate"  (1906),  Mr.  Howard 
dealt  with  American  character,  largely  in  the  midst  of  foreign 
atmosphere.  The  advance  from  the  same  "Saratoga"  to 
his  "Aristocracy"  (1892),  was  only  an  advance  in  neatness 
and  closeness  of  dialogue.  That  feminine  brightness  which 
drew  down  upon  him  the  wrath  of  contemporary  critics, 
was  admirably  adapted,  as  it  was  in  the  case  of  Clyde  Fitch, 
to  the  French  treatment.  But  the  Anglo-French  back 
ground  detracts  from  the  sincerity  of  American  drama.  Yet, 
should  one  look  closer,  and  not  judge  by  externals  entirely, 
it  will  be  seen,  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Howard,  that  in  spite  of  the 
prejudice  against  American  dramatists  and  American  themes, 
in  spite  of  the  exoteric  character  of  his  technique,  of  his  con 
struction,  he  anticipated  many  of  our  present-day  dramatic 
workers  in  the  selection  of  his  themes. 

"The  Young  Mrs.  Winthrop"  (1882),  however  stereotyped 
in  its  adherence  to  the  "  aside,"  is  a  domestic  play  of  strong 
import,  by  the  side  of  which  Alfred  Sutro's  "The  Walls  of 
Jericho"  is  no  more  powerful  arraignment  of  society  forces 
drawing  husband  and  wife  apart.  "Moorcroft,"  though  it 
failed,  exhibited  Mr.  Howard  as  aware  of  the  value  of  time 
liness  in  theatre  work.  He  had  witnessed  the  instantaneous 
effect  of  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  and  had  noticed  the  melo 
dramatic  success  of  Boucicault's  "The  Octoroon."  It  is 
natural,  therefore,  that  this  "Moorcroft,"  based  on  a  story 
by  John  Hay,  should  have  dealt  with  the  slave  trade  in 
similar  melodramatic  manner. 

"Baron  Rudolph"  (1881)  foreshadowed  by  many  years 
the  stage  treatment  of  the  struggle  between  capital  and  labor, 
so  crudely  handled  by  Charles  Klein  in  "The  Daughters  of 
Men."  Then  there  was  "The  Henrietta"  (1887),  to  my 


BRONSON  HOWARD  85 

mind  one  of  Mr.  Howard's  most  characteristically  American 
plays,  —  barring  a  few  out-of-date  touches,  —  which  might 
very  well  be  classed  with  "The  Lion  and  the  Mouse,"  Frank 
Norris's  "The  Pit"  (dramatized  by  Channing  Pollock),  and 
"Business  is  Business"  ("Les  Affaires  sont  les  Affaires")  in 
which  Crane  acted.  In  claiming  this  distinction  of  previous- 
ness  for  Mr.  Howard,  it  must  always  be  borne  in  mind  that  his 
was  pioneer  treatment,  which  won  its  way  in  the  face  of  man 
agerial  prejudice  and  productive  barrenness.  "Shenandoah" 
later  became  the  forerunner  of  such  a  superior  drama  as 
William  Gillette's  "Secret  Service." 

Mr.  Howard's  progress  toward  the  recognized  position  of 
dean  of  his  profession  was  by  no  means  a  rapid  or  an  easy 
one.  I  have  before  me  accusations  of  diverse  kinds  regis 
tered  against  the  dramatist,  for  there  were  many  critics 
who  could  not  see  originality  in  any  of  his  work.  In  1874, 
when  "Saratoga"  (Anglicized  "Brighton"  by  Frank  Mar 
shall)  was  presented  in  London,  the  Times  loudly  pro 
claimed  that  the  play  was  simply  a  recast  of  Scribe's  "Les 
Eaux."  Mr.  Howard  protested  vigorously  in  the  newspaper 
columns,  yet  he  was  dignifiedly  silent  when  critics  pointed 
to  his  "  Diamonds "  (1872),  and  discovered  in  it  distinct  re 
flections  of  "  Still  Waters  Run  Deep " ;  or  claimed  that  the 
charming  sentiment  in  "Old  Love  Letters"  was  akin  in 
form  and  feeling  to  Gilbert's  "Sweethearts." 

Despite  the  fact,  for  example,  that  a  certain  special  re 
viewer  was  proverbially  harsh  in  his  judgments  of  Mr. 
Howard,  hinting  that  "One  of  Our  Girls"  (1885)  leaned  mpon 
"A  Scrap  of  Paper"  in  its  third  act,  and  upon  "The  School 
for  Scandal"  in  its  fourth  act,  should  one  follow  those  re 
views,  there  would  be  detected  that  with  the  appearance  of 
each  new  play  by  Mr.  Howard,  increasing  credit  and  respect 
were  bestowed  upon  him.  This  was  largely  due  to  the  matur 
ity  of  the  dramatist's  touch  —  to  the  surety  of  his  technique. 


86  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

To  his  feminine  interest,  Mr.  Howard  added  a  repartee 
which  came  from  close  observation  of  small  detail.  At 
first,  in  such  pieces  as  "Saratoga/'  and  later,  in  "One  of  Our 
Girls,"  the  style  bordered  on  the  frivolous.  It  seemed 
that  there  was  but  one  way  for  him  to  picture  the  American 
girl:  by  making  her,  amidst  the  conservatism  of  English 
convention,  a  bold,  frank,  "natural"  type,  surprising  every 
one  with  her  freedom,  her  boisterousness.  There  was  little 
of  the  intensive  life  to  be  detected  in  her  struggles,  in  her 
marital  misunderstandings,  unless  we  except  "The  Young 
Mrs.  Winthrop." 

The  formula  of  imported  drama  was  used  by  Mr.  Howard; 
in  order  to  win  his  battle,  he  was  obliged  to  compromise 
somewhere.  The  formula  prescribed  duels  and  French  in 
discretions;  it  necessitated  the  American  characters  being 
lavish  with  money.  A  certain  grace  was  bestowed  upon  the 
feminine  type,  but  otherwise  the  manner  of  depiction  was 
the  same  as  that  used  by  Taylor  in  his  character  portrayal 
of  Asa  Trenchard. 

The  social  amenities,  the  comedies  and  tragedies  of  smart 
set  life,  are  to-day  very  much  as  they  were  yesterday.  We 
find  as  many  of  the  nouveau  riche,  anxious  to  pepper  conversa 
tion  with  French  phrases,  as  many  of  the  so-called  aristocracy 
boasting  of  association  with  titled  folk;  and  there  are  still 
to  be  seen  the  destitute  foreign  noblemen  —  mere  fortune- 
hunters  such  as  Mr.  Howard  introduced  into  "Aristocracy" 
and  "Kate."  Snobbery  has  lost  none  of  its  rampant  coarse 
ness.  Yet  we  have  outgrown  this  cartoon,  this  farce  element, 
in  depicting  American  condition  on  the  stage;  we  seek  for 
less  of  the  incongruous. 

Wall  Street  is  just  as  potent  a  factor  in  the  shattering  of 
homes  as  it  was  when  "The  Henrietta"  was  first  produced; 
but  the  framework  of  social  drama,  of  the  problem  play,  is 
now  more  solid,  and  less  prone  to  be  shaped  by  the  caprice 


BRONSON  HOWARD  87 

of  external  incident.  Mr.  Howard,  despite  the  transitory 
chat  of  his  dialogue,  impresses  one  with  the  feeling  that  be 
neath  the  surface  incident  there  lay  a  very  distinct  idea  —  a 
much  more  substantial  view  of  life  than  his  execution  would 
lead  us  to  believe.  His  criticism  of  American  condition  was 
always  thorough  and  just,  and  his  culture  sense  was  so  keen 
that  it  is  surprising  to  find  how  little  his  plays  reflect  the 
solid  character  of  his  intellect.  His  dramas  were  mostly 
received  with  enthusiasm,  netting  him  a  comfortable  for 
tune.  Yet,  regarding  their  permanence  there  is  doubt,  for 
the  very  reason  that  they  are  cast  in  a  mould  so  easily  dis 
carded,  a  mould  which  held  only  the  froth  of  manners. 

As  a  worker,  Mr.  Howard  was  always  zealous  and  pains 
taking.  His  manuscripts  indicate  that  labor  and  sacrifice 
are  the  dramatist's  watchwords.  Let  a  doubt  as  to  effect 
iveness  once  possess  him,  and  he  went  to  any  amount  of 
trouble  to  overcome  the  scenic  difficulty.  The  well-thumbed 
volumes  on  the  Civil  War  in  his  library  were  evidence  of  his 
care  in  detail  while  planning  " Shenandoah,"  the  first  draft 
of  which  was  a  network  of  emendations. 

He  wrote  and  re-wrote  a  scene  in  "One  of  Our  Girls"  six 
times  before  he  could  prove  to  his  own  satisfaction  that  the 
original  way  was  the  only  way  for  his  particular  purpose. 
The  lecture  he  delivered  at  Harvard  University,  in  1886, 
applied  the  general  laws  of  drama  to  certain  alterations  made 
in  "The  Banker's  Daughter."  His  object  was  to  show  the 
student  that  whatever  changes  of  primary  importance  were 
made  by  him,  affected  other  details  in  preceding  and  succeed 
ing  situations.  A  drama  is  an  organism,  with  relative  spatial 
values  fluctuating  according  to  dynamic  principles.  Me 
chanical  effectiveness  has  its  constructive  equation,  and  char 
acter  must  develop  consistently  along  lines  of  evolution  and 
of  life. 

But  Mr.  Howard,  while  illustrating  these  laws  by  means 


88  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

of  the  changes  in  his  piece,  also  too  clearly  revealed  in  that 
lecture  a  distinct  danger  underlying  the  stagecraft  of  his 
day  —  a  danger  bequeathed  us  by  the  French,  and  engrafted 
by  Robertson  and  Taylor  upon  English  drama  and  American 
drama  as  well — a  danger  counteracted  by  the  Ibsen  technique, 
with  its  vital  ideas.  The  caprice  of  incident  was  more  thought 
of  than  the  humanity  of  individuals;  artifice  therefore  largely 
took  the  place  of  art.  "One  of  the  most  important  laws  of 
dramatic  construction,"  said  Mr.  Howard  before  the  Harvard 
audience,  "  might  thus  be  formulated :  If  you  want  a  particu- . 
lar  thing  done,  choose  a  character  to  do  it  that  an  audience 
will  naturally  expect  to  do  it.  In  'The  Banker's  Daughter* 
I  wanted  a  man  to  fall  in  love  with  my  heroine  after  she  was 
a  married  woman,  and,  of  course,  I  chose  a  French  Count 
for  the  purpose. " 

We  now  ask  again,  in  view  of  all  this  activity,  by  what 
right  is  Mr.  Howard  called  Dean  of  the  American  Dramatists? 
He  always  had  the  interest  of  native  playwrights  at  heart; 
he  fought  for  them  unceasingly,  even  as  ardently  as  Mark 
Twain  did  for  the  author  in  the  copyright  agitations,  making 
appeal  for  proper  protection  of  plays  as  early  as  1879;  he 
founded  for  his  craft  a  permanent  organization,  known  as 
the  Dramatist  Club.  But  more  than  that,  he  established 
the  fact  of  the  American  drama's  existence,  and  stood  ready 
to  render  encouragement  to  the  younger  generation.  Unlike 
"  The  Master  Builder,"  he  hastened  the  newer  school,  always 
gracious  and  always  helpful. 

We  emphasize  in  our  literary  histories  the  importance  of 
such  writers  as  Bret  Harte,  who  preserved  a  native  flavor  in 
the  short  story,  dependent  upon  native  life.  The  American 
idea  in  literature  has  largely  been  subservient  to  local  interest 
and  local  need.  Politically,  socially,  spiritually,  and  eco 
nomically,  locality  has  governed  our  literary  expression,  and 
has  been  externalized  on  the  stage.  Save  in  isolated  instan- 


BRONSON  HOWARD  89 

ces,  idea  in  American  literature  has  in  no  way  equalled 
vividness  of  local  condition.  While  Mr.  Howard's  local  claim 
was  harmed  by  his  manner  of  construction,  he  nevertheless, 
like  Robertson  and  Taylor,  swung  the  pendulum  across  the 
dial  of  contemporary  life,  and  reflected  the  conventional 
phases  of  contemporary  society.  He  recognized  that  Boker 
in  Philadelphia  had  done  no  ordinary  work;  that  American 
drama,  from  the  Revolution,  was  no  insignificant  quan 
tity,  however  varying  the  quality.  What  was  needed  seemed 
to  be  confidence  in  native  ability  and  in  native  discernment; 
what  was  needed  proved  to  be  a  local  dramatic  market  for 
modern  wares.  Mr.  Howard  was  the  founder  of  such  a 
market.  It  was  confidence  on  his  part  that  cleared  the  way 
for  the  present.  And  by  right  of  this  struggle,  dramatic 
history  should  stamp  him,  as  others  in  his  family  have  been 
stamped,  as  pioneer  in  his  particular  field. 

NOTE 

Mr.  Howard  died  in  1908.     His  plays  appeared  in  the  following 

order,  the  star  indicating  that  they  have  been  published  in  French's 

"Standard  Drama": 

"Fantine"  (1864),  "Saratoga"  (1870),  "Diamonds"  (1872),  "Moor- 
croft;  or,  The  Double  Wedding"  (1874),  "Hurricanes"  (1878, 
—  called  "Truth"  in  England),  "Old  Love  Letters"  *  (1878), 
"The  Banker's  Daughter"  *  (1878  —  called  in  England  "The 
Old  Love  and  the  New";  also  known  as  "Lillian's  Last 
Love"),  "Baron  Rudolph"  (1881),  "Young  Mrs.  Winthrop"  * 
(1882),  "One  of  Our  Girls"  *  (1885),  "Met  by  Chance"  (1887), 
"The  Henrietta"  *  (1887),  "Shenandoah"  *  (1889),  "Aristoc 
racy"  *  (1892),  "Kate"  *  (1906  — Harper  &  Bros.). 

In  1879,  Mr.  Howard  also  wrote  "Wives,"  in  which  scenes  from 
Moliere's  "L'Ecole  de  Maris"  and  "L'ficole  des  Femmes" 
were  blended.  He  likewise  wrote  "  Peter  Stuyvesant  "  (1899),  in 
conjunction  with  Professor  Brander  Matthews.  In  the  casts 
presenting  the  comedies  we  note  such  names  as  Sara  Jewett, 
W.  J.  LeMoyne,  J.  H.  Stoddart,  George  Clarke,  Henry  Miller, 
Agnes  Booth,  E.  H.  Sothern,  Viola  Allen,  and  Wilton  Lackaye. 
The  early  actors  were  the  most  important,  and  they  included 
Fanny  Davenport,  Clara  Morris,  and  their  contemporaries. 


CHAPTER  VI 

JAMES  A.  HERNE  AND  THE  REALISTIC  DRAMA 

IT  is  rarely  that  the  American  people  have  touched  the  soil 
in  literature,  but  when  they  have,  the  result  has  been  of  the 
most  distinctive  order.  As  a  nation,  we  are  too  young  to 
have  realized  any  large  and  original  problems  in  literature. 
Our  authors  have  been  more  or  less  imitators  of  English 
models,  and  even  to-day  our  stage  is  attempting  to  explain 
American  conditions  by  means  of  a  technique  which  is  not  a 
native  technique.  We  have  perhaps  brought  the  short  story 
to  a  stage  of  perfection  which  can  only  be  equaled  by  a  few 
of  the  French  writers;  but  our  poetry  has  been  largely 
imitative,  our  essays  reminiscent  of  the  eighteenth  century 
flavor  in  England,  and  our  fiction  by  no  means  fraught  with 
the  full  value  of  American  life  and  American  characteristics. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  American  drama,  although  at  the 
present  time  there  is  a  decided  tendency  on  the  part  of  the 
popular  dramatist  to  deal  with  subjects  that  are  closely 
related  to  the  lives  of  American  audiences.  The  position 
which  W.  D.  Howells  occupies  is  assuredly  one  of  the  most 
original  impulses  evident  in  the  recent  history  of  American 
letters.  He  has  been  the  means  of  educating  the  people 
away  from  the  stereotyped  formulas  of  romanticism;  and 
while  he  has  done  much  to  create  a  realistic  rut  in  fiction,  he 
has  nevertheless  enforced  the  undoubted  fact  that  there  is 
as  much  richness,  if  not  indeed  more  truth,  in  the  common 
life  of  the  land,  as  in  the  idealism  which  has  no  intimate 


JAMES  A.   HERNE  91 

relation  with  the  fibre  of  the  community.  Unfortunately, 
we  are  prone,  in  our  literary  criticism,  to  overlook  the  work 
that  is  being  done  along  the  same  lines  in  American  drama. 
Take  any  handbook  of  literature,  and  note  how  absolutely 
the  activity  of  the  American  playwright  is  ignored.  The 
literary  critic  has  not  yet  awakened  to  the  fact  of  the  impor 
tance  of  a  body  of  native  dramaturgy.  Otherwise,  did  he 
know  the  history  of  playwriting,  he  would  not  show  so  thor 
oughly  his  ignorance  of  one  of  the  rare  strains  in  American 
drama  —  as  distinctive,  as  invigorating,  and  as  important 
as  that  impulse  given  by  Mr.  Howells  to  American  letters. 
I  refer  to  the  solid  calibre  of  the  dramas  of  James  A.  Herne. 

In  his  book  on  "Criticism  and  Fiction,"  Mr.  Howells, 
speaking  of  the  imitative  instinct  of  the  average  American 
writer,  says  truthfully  that  in  general  "he  is  instructed  to 
idealize  his  personages,  that  is,  to  take  the  lifelikeness  out  of 
them,  and  put  the  booklikeness  into  them."  And  he  adds 
furthermore,  as  a  hopeful  sign,  that  "now  we  are  beginning 
to  see  and  to  say  that  no  author  is  an  authority,  except  in 
those  moments  when  he  held  his  ear  close  to  Nature's  lips, 
and  caught  her  very  accents."  Probably  our  universities 
are  overdoing  the  desire  to  discount  the  originality  of  an 
author,  in  the  zeal  to  submit  his  work  to  the  test  of  those 
scientific  principles  underlying  the  theory  of  comparative 
literature.  As  far  as  the  sane  evaluation  of  realism  is  con 
cerned,  that  author  is  real  who  faithfully  interprets  the  en 
vironment  with  which  he  is  most  familiar.  And  in  this 
respect,  no  one  can  lay  better  claim  to  the  highest  realiza 
tion  of  the  term  than  Mr.  Herne  himself. 

Considered  in  the  light  of  sound  standards,  he  may  be  said 
to  represent  the  most  original  strain  that  the  American 
drama  has  produced.  Let  us  grant  that  in  his  plots  he  in 
vents  conventional  situations  which  are  detrimental  to  the 
perfection  of  his  stagecraft.  Let  us  acknowledge  that  his 


92  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

comedy  is  ofttimes  low  comedy,  although  his  humor  is  of  the 
very  kindliest  and  of  the  most  human  quality.  Let  us  fur 
thermore  realize  fully  that,  having  acted  in  the  old  school, 
having  assumed  characters  of  diverse  range,  Mr.  Herne  un 
consciously  resorted  to  an  invention  which  was  more  imi 
tative  than  original.  Yet,  notwithstanding  this,  he  is  en 
titled  to  the  very  highest  consideration,  because  of  the  fact 
that  in  the  midst  of  romantic,  melodramatic,  and  old-fashioned 
tragic  conceptions,  which  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the 
American  public,  he  put  his  ear  close  to  the  heart  of  the 
common  life,  and  drew  from  the  most  ordinary  experiences 
the  poetry  of  a  simple,  fundamental  existence. 

The  surprising  characteristic  which  strikes  one  after  having 
read  Mr.  Herne 's  manuscripts,  is  the  wonderful  clarity  of 
vision  which,  through  the  medium  of  the  most  matter-of- 
fact  details,  through  the  wonderful  power  of  clear  and  direct 
expression,  could  raise  the  common  level  of  daily  existence 
to  the  realm  of  the  most  tragic  drama  on  the  one  hand,  and 
to  the  realm  of  the  most  genial,  warm-hearted,  and  pure 
rural  comedy  on  the  other.  This  is  not  over-exaggeration 
or  over-enthusiasm,  because  one  cannot  help  realizing  the 
faults  in  Mr.  Herne 's  technique,  through  the  very  existence 
in  the  midst  of  those  faults  of  the  highest  type  of  dramatic 
literature. 

His  work,  as  a  whole,  is  only  another  illustration  of  the 
undoubted  fact  that  American  life  —  the  true  American  life 
—  lies  between  great  cities;  that  there  is  more  of  the  native 
stamina  in  the  small  community  than  in  the  abnormal 
community,  where  a  mixture  of  all  nations  constitutes  the 
civic  body.  Mr.  Howells  has  studied  the  humanity  of  this 
intermediate  life,  and  his  work  is  distinctively  native; 
whereas  that  of  Mrs.  Edith  Wharton  is  wholly  imitative  of 
the  English  school,  as  a  certain  class  of  life  in  America  is 
imitative  of  English  life. 


Photo,  by  J.  A".   Stevens  &•  Son 


JAMES  A. 


JAMES  A.   HERNE  93 

When  Mr.  Herne 's  attention  was  drawn  away  from  the 
melodrama  with  which  he  had  met  favor,  he  seemed  to  have 
been  prompted  by  a  kind  of  intuitive  realization  of  what  the 
modern  movement  in  literature  was  to  be.  Some  would  like 
to  say  that  the  influences  which  were  brought  to  bear  upon 
him  at  the  time  he  wrote  "Margaret  Fleming"  and  "Griffith 
Davenport"  were  the  foreign  influences  of  such  men  as  Tol 
stoi  and  Ibsen;  but  the  impetus  given  to  Mr.  Herne  was  more 
inward  than  external.  He  may  be  said  to  have  been  endowed 
with  that  luminosity  of  spiritual  vision  which  saw  the  even 
tual  potency  of  the  common  life,  and  which  kept  him,  even 
at  an  advanced  age,  thoroughly  attuned  to  the  progressive 
movements,  making  him  an  ardent  reader  of  the  philosophic 
thinkers,  as  well  as  a  warm  adherent  of  the  economic  theo 
ries  of  Henry  George. 

Mr.  Herne  was  born  on  February  1,  1839,  at  Cohoes,  New 
York,  of  Irish  parentage,  his  father,  Patrick  Herne,  being 
a  tradesman  of  the  town.  Save  for  the  fact  that  he  received 
the  bare  rudiments  of  an  education,  Mr.  Herne,  intellectu 
ally  as  well  as  materially,  may  be  taken  as  a  type  of  that 
self-made  man  which  we  Americans  rightfully  exalt.  In  his 
early  years  he  had  to  earn  his  livelihood,  and  this  he  did  in 
various  subordinate  positions;  while,  with  the  yearning  of 
the  average  boy,  his  tastes  were  turned  toward  the  sea. 
Though  he  did  not,  with  the  usual  inclination  of  the  average 
boy,  slip  off  and  ship  upon  a  merchantman,  he  retained,  until 
the  day  of  his  death,  an  insatiable  love  of  the  water.  The 
rebellion  against  conditions,  however,  resulted  in  his  running 
away  at  the  age  of  twenty,  and  joining  a  theatrical  company 
which  was  playing  at  the  Adelphi  Theatre  in  Troy.  Here 
he  appeared  during  April,  1859,  in  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin." 
Upon  the  authority  of  Clapp,  however,  it  is  said  that  his 
first  appearance  was  made  in  an  amateur  performance  of 
"Toodles,"  which  took  place  a  short  while  previous  to  this 


94  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

at  Schenectady.  At  the  Adelphi  he  supported  James  B. 
Roberts,  assuming  such  characters  as  Horatio,  Cassio,  and 
Bassanio.  His  uncle  was  the  treasurer  of  the  house. 

That  Herne  was  equal  to  any  emergency  may  be  inferred 
from  the  fact  that  one  evening,  when  Roberts  appeared  as 
Richard  III,  the  young  actor  was  ticketed  for  the  three 
roles  of  Tressel,  Oxford,  and  Buckingham.  He  was  indefati 
gable  in  his  ambition,  although  at  the  time  he  must  have 
been  sorely  pressed  for  the  necessary  income  which  would 
supply  him  with  a  theatrical  wardrobe.  For,  during  one 
summer,  he  returned  to  a  brush  factory  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Cohoes,  working  away  to  eke  out  his  small  salary,  at  the 
same  time,  with  the  artful  enthusiasm  of  a  young  man, 
keeping  his  father  in  ignorance  of  his  true  profession. 

His  next  engagement  was  at  the  Gaiety  Theatre  in  Albany; 
and  from  there  he  went  to  the  Holliday  Street  Theatre  in 
Baltimore,  which  was  under  the  management  of  Ford.  There 
he  remained  until  1864;  and  it  should  be  recorded  that  he 
likewise  played  in  Washington  at  the  theatre  in  which  Lin 
coln  was  killed.  In  1869,  he  was  for  a  period  manager  of  the 
New  York  Grand  Opera  House;  and  thereafter  he  toured 
with  Susan  Denning  along  the  Pacific  slope.  Then  followed 
several  seasons  as  leading  man  with  Lucille  Western,  during 
which  engagement  he  assumed  such  parts  as  Bill  SyJces  and 
Sir  Francis  Levison,  succeeding  E.  L.  Davenport  in  the  re 
pertoire  roles.  Mr.  Herne 's  first  wife  was  Miss  Helen  Wes 
tern,  whom  he  married  on  July  17,  1866. 

When  the  actor  finally  went  to  Baldwin's  Theatre,  in  San 
Francisco,  it  was  under  the  management  of  Thomas  Maguire. 
He  served  in  the  capacity  of  stage  director,  as  well  as  assum 
ing  an  infinite  number  of  roles,  among  those  to  be  remembered 
because  of  their  human  unctuousness  being  his  Dickens 
characterizations  of  Daniel  Peggotty  and  Captain  Cuttle.  It 
was  while  serving  in  this  capacity  that  David  Belasco,  a 


JAMES  A.   HERNE  95 

much  younger  man  than  Mr.  Herne,  came  under  his  influence 
and  profited  by  his  training.  For  though  Mr.  Belasco  had 
much  originality  and  enthusiasm,  his  work  needed  the  guid 
ance  of  such  an  experienced  actor  as  Mr.  Herne.  And  it 
may  be  said  that  this  meeting  with  Belasco  first  suggested 
to  the  stage  manager  his  own  powers  as  a  writer  of 
plays. 

From  now  on,  the  career  of  James  A.  Herne  may  be  con 
sidered  entirely  from  the  standpoint  of  his  literary  develop 
ment  and  of  his  personal  expansion.  For,  peculiarly,  events 
in  his  life  are  not  so  significant  as  the  intimate  association 
with  a  very  few  people,  who  might  be  said  to  have  acted  as 
much  upon  his  artistic  unfolding  as  any  of  the  subtle  forces 
which  are  supposed  to  mould  the  characters  of  men.  The 
most  important  event  in  Mr.  Herne 's  life,  both  intellectually 
and  spiritually,  was  his  second  marriage  with  Miss  Katherine 
Corcoran,  on  April  3,  1878. 

As  a  matter  of  mere  romantic  record,  it  is  interesting  to 
note  that  one  evening,  during  Mr.  Herne 's  engagement  in 
San  Francisco  and  before  his  second  marriage,  while  he  was 
playing  Bill  Sykes,  there  was  present  in  the  gallery  a  very 
much  excited  and  overwrought  girl;  this  happened  to  be 
Katherine  Corcoran.  It  is  also  interesting  to  read,  that  in 
November,  1877,  Julia  Melville,  a  dramatic  reader,  had  a 
pupil  of  whom  she  was  especially  proud,  and  one  whom  she 
was  anxious  to  have  Mr.  Herne  see.  So  he  slipped  into  the 
room  one  morning,  to  hear  this  young  girl  while  she  was  at 
work;  it  was  Katherine  Corcoran.  Mrs.  Herne 's  father  had 
fought  on  the  Union  side  in  the  Civil  War.  While  still  in 
her  teens,  she  went  to  California,  where  after  studying,  she 
gained  experience  in  stock  at  a  Portland  theatre,  thereafter 
joining  James  O'Neill  and  William  Seymour  at  the  Baldwin 
Theatre.  One  of  her  initial  successes  was  as  Peg  Woffing- 
ton  in  "Masks  and  Faces." 


96  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

There  was  not  a  move  which  Mr.  Herne  was  to  make  in 
the  future  that  did  not  bear  the  impress  of  her  inspiration. 
She  it  was  who  started  him  definitely  on  his  career  as  a  dram 
atist;  she  it  was  who  encouraged  him  in  those  hours  when, 
after  having  written  "Margaret  Fleming"  and  "The  Rev. 
Griffith  Davenport,"  he  found  himself  shut  off  from  all 
managerial  hearing,  because  of  the  fact  that  he  had  deter 
mined  to  cut  aloof  from  melodrama  and  to  seek  for  the  truth 
in  the  commonplace. 

From  his  career  thus  hastily  sketched,  there  are  a  few 
significant  factors  to  be  gleaned.  While  at  the  Baldwin 
Theatre,  Mr.  Herne  came  under  the  influence  of  the  Bouci- 
cault  drama  and  of  that  type  of  melodrama  which  was  rep 
resented  by  such  a  success  as  "The  Danicheffs."  So  that 
it  is  not  surprising  to  find  "Hearts  of  Oak,"  "The  Minute 
Men,"  and  "Drifting  Apart"  tinged  with  those  large  emo 
tions  which  might  almost  be  said  to  lack  subtlety.  Even  in 
"  Shore  Acres, "  during  the  scene  in  which  Uncle  Nat  struggles 
with  Martin  in  his  effort  to  light  the  signal  lamp,  the  sen 
sational  is  very  much  in  evidence;  but  the  unerring  art  of 
Mr.  Herne  saved  him  from  the  accusation  of  intense,  glaring 
melodrama.  He  understood  thoroughly  the  balance  between 
tension  and  quietude,  and  there  is  no  bit  of  stage  writing 
more  natural,  more  cheerful,  and  more  real  than  the  act 
which  succeeded  this  violent  one  in  "Shores  Acres,"  Uncle 
Nat  preparing  the  Christmas  stockings.  Those  who  are  for 
tunate  enough  to  recollect  the  wonderful  naturalness  of  Mr. 
Herne  Js  acting,  will  always  point  to  the  final  curtain  of  this 
play,  where  Uncle  Nat,  left  alone  on  the  stage,  by  the  very 
flexibility  of  his  facial  expression,  depicted  the  full  beauty  of 
his  character,  as  he  closed  up  the  room  for  the  night,  put  out 
the  lamps,  and,  lighted  only  by  the  glow  from  the  fire  in  the 
stove,  slowly  left  the  room  as  the  cuckoo  clock  struck  twelve. 
Such  work,  of  which  Mr.  Herne  as  an  actor  was  capable,  is 


JAMES  A.   HERNE  97 

to  a  certain  extent  the  realization  of  Maeterlinck's  idea  cf 
the  static  drama. 

After  seeing  "Shore  Acres  "  in  1893,  Henry  George  wrote: 

"I  cannot  too  much  congratulate  you  upon  your  success. 
You  have  done  what  you  have  sought  to  do  —  made  a  play 
pure  and  noble  that  people  will  come  to  hear.  You  have 
taken  the  strength  of  realism  and  added  to  it  the  strength 
that  comes  from  the  wider  truth  that  realism  fails  to  see; 
and  in  the  simple  portrayal  of  homely  life,  touched  a  univer 
sal  chord.  .  .  .  Who,  save  you,  can  bring  out  the  character 
you  have  created  —  a  character  which  to  others,  as  to  me, 
must  have  recalled  the  tender  memory  of  some  sweet  saint 
of  God." 

Having  made  a  comfortable  fortune  with  the  success  of 
"Hearts  of  Oak,"  Mr.  Herne's  progress,  up  to  the  time  of 
"Shore  Acres,"  was  marked  by  persistent  opposition  and 
lack  of  financial  success.  This  initial  play  of  his,  which, 
when  first  produced  at  the  Baldwin  Theatre  on  September 
9,  1879,  was  known  as  "Chums,"  was,  in  many  of  its  de 
tails,  based  on  "The  Mariner's  Compass,"  by  Henry  Leslie. 
Its  main  plot  was  used  again  in  "Sag  Harbor;"  and  despite 
the  fact  that  it  contained  many  stereo  typed  romantic  speeches, 
it  is  well  at  the  outset  to  note  that  gift  which  Mr.  Herne 
possessed  —  the  gift  of  simplicity,  which  never  deserted  him, 
no  matter  how  old-fashioned  and  unoriginal  some  of  his 
scenes  might  be.  There  are  countless  plays  and  stories 
dealing  with  a  marriage  between  a  girl  and  her  guardian, 
which  at  first  is  over-clouded  by  the  fact  that  the  girl  loves 
another,  but  which  finally  ripens  into  a  full  happiness  and  a 
satisfactory  ending.  One  cannot  quite  accept  those  heroes 
of  fiction  or  drama,  however  mature  and  settled,  who  would 
give  up  their  wives  because  of  a  conscience. 

But  these  incongruities  were  more  than  overbalanced  by 
Mr.  Herne's  inimitable  handling  of  the  commonplace  in 


98  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

life.  He  was  able  to  breathe  into  his  dialogue  those  small, 
playful  expressions  that  lighten  up  the  whole  character.  At 
one  moment  serious,  he  never  allowed  himself  —  except  in 
the  case  of  "Margaret  Fleming"  —  to  subject  his  audiences 
to  unrelieved  strain.  The  papers,  in  receiving  his  so-called 
domestic  dramas,  showed  surprise  over  the  effectiveness  of 
the  commonplace.  They  were  not  used  to  the  little  happen 
ings  of  home  life,  to  the  glorification  of  those  situations  which 
abound  in  comradeship,  and  of  those  quiet  scenes  with  a  baby 
which  are  successful  on  the  stage  only  when  the  actor  pos 
sesses  that  great  art  which  alone  knows  how  to  deal  with  quiet 
detail. 

"Hearts  of  Oak"  exhibited  the  influence  of  Dickens  in 
its  character  portrayal.  Judged  by  the  standards  that  we 
now  have  in  these  times  of  ultra-realism,  we  might  call  the 
sentiment  old-fashioned,  we  might  even  notice  certain  speeches 
which  point  a  moral  rather  than  adorn  the  tale.  No  one, 
however,  could  ever  accuse  Mr.  Herne  of  being  "preachy," 
—  he  had  that  exquisite  sense  of  justice  and  of  the  fitness  of 
things  which,  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  write  "The 
Rev.  Griffith  Davenport,"  showed  itself  to  a  high  degree, 
inasmuch  as,  dealing  with  a  circuit  rider  of  the  South  and 
likewise  with  the  problem  of  slavery,  he  could  have  fallen 
into  the  error  of  the  average  dramatist  who,  handling  the 
same  subject,  has  generally  falsified  the  truth  in  attempting 
to  thrust  forward  personal  theories.  "Drifting  Apart" 
is  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  powerful  temperance  sermons 
ever  put  on  the  stage,  unless  we  except  the  successful  melo 
drama,  "Drink."  Yet  there  is  little  of  distinction  in  the 
actual  script  of  the  piece,  save  the  suggested  possibilities  in 
the  acting  that  were  so  marked  on  its  first  presentation  at  the 
People's  Theatre  in  New  York,  on  May  7,  1888.  Mrs. 
Herne  assumed  the  role  of  Mary  Miller,  and  infused  it  with 
a  subtle  interpretation  of  art  for  truth's  sake,  a  character- 


JAMES  A.  HERNE  99 

istic  most  distinctive  in  her  work.  Mr.  Garland  spoke  of  it 
in  these  terms :  "  It  was  so  utterly  opposed  to  the  tragedy  of 
the  legitimate.  Here  was  tragedy  that  appalled  and  fasci 
nated  like  the  great  fact  of  living.  .  .  .  The  fourth  act  was 
like  one  of  Millet's  paintings." 

And  here  it  is  well  to  note  a  wonderful  point  marking  Mr. 
Ilerne's  activity.  His  lines  of  life  were  so  cast  that  he  was 
denied  the  advantages  of  the  student,  although  he  possessed 
the  mind  of  the  scholar.  Without  any  apparent  effort  on  his 
part,  he  absorbed  the  best  literature,  and  it  was  an  easy  matter 
for  him  to  reach  the  heart  of  any  subject  which  attracted  his 
attention.  Although  he  set  himself  down  to  write  a  melo 
drama  when  he  began  "The  Minute  Men,"  and  although, 
because  of  this  very  self-consciousness  on  his  part,  he  failed  in 
his  attempt,  he  was  nevertheless  successful  in  attaining  a  cer 
tain  atmosphere  of  historical  reality,  akin  to  the  true  Revo 
lutionary  spirit.  This  was  more  solidly  and  more  artistically 
accomplished  in  "The  Rev.  Griffith  Davenport,"1  which  is 
one  of  Mr.  Herne  's  best  contributions  to  dramatic  literature, 
however  much  we  might  be  inclined  to  claim  that  "Sag 
Harbor"  contains  his  most  finished  writing.  Of  all  Civil 
War  dramas  it  is  assuredly  the  finest  example  of  a  balance  of 
truth,  artistic  situation,  and  equal  justice  to  both  sides,  which 
is  lacking  in  "Shenandoah"  and  "The  Heart  of  Maryland." 
The  point  of  view  is  one  which  might  be  said  to  be  as  much 
Southern  as  Northern.  The  principle  of  slavery  was  antag 
onistic  to  Mr.  Herne 's  social  philosophy;  and  should  the 
bias  be  found  at  all  in  this  play,  it  would  lie  in  his  interpre 
tation  of  duty  as  confronting  Griffith  Davenport.  For  the 
Southerner  was  fighting  as  much  to  sustain  State  rights  as 
to  protect  his  slave  property;  historical  fact  will  show  that 
at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  slavery  as  an  institution  was 

1  Based  on  Helen  H.  Gardner's  novel,  "The  Unofficial  Patriot." 


100  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

decreasing  through  an  economic,  evolutionary  change.  Dav 
enport's  struggle  was  not  so  much  that  of  a  Southerner  who 
was  torn  between  his  duty  to  State  and  his  duty  to  country, 
as  it  was  the  conception  of  Mr.  Herne,  whose  idea  of  duty 
was  wholly  from  the  standpoint  of  country,  and  not  from 
that  of  State.  The  atmosphere  of  the  drama  is  very  success 
fully  obtained  through  the  handling  of  the  simple  details  of 
Southern  life.  Perhaps  there  was  an  over-accentuation  of 
the  darky  characteristics,  but  they  were  not  the  customary 
antics  of  the  stage  minstrel  or  of  the  conventional  Southern 
drama.  As  a  playwright,  Mr.  Herne  infused  into  his  darkies 
that  same  strain  of  humanity  which  he  is  said  to  have  put 
into  a  negro  character-part  he  once  played  with  such  deter 
mined  and  realistic  villainy. 

It  is  significant  to  obtain  Mr.  Herne 's  own  estimate  of  his 
different  plays.  We  find  him  analyzing  the  cause  for  this 
success  and  for  that  failure;  we  hear  him  making  a  confession 
that  although  "Hearts  of  Oak,"  in  its  dealing  with  Marble- 
head  folk,  was  a  new  departure,  since  it  had  neither  hero 
nor  villain,  it  was  crude  in  construction.  With  a  simple 
naivete,  he  recognized  in  "The  Minute  Men,"  with  its  Paul 
Revere 's  ride  and  its  Battle  of  Lexington,  a  step  nearer  the 
truth;  while  in  its  character  of  Dorothy  Foxglove  it  afforded 
a  "glorious"  role  for  Mrs.  Herne.  He  was  frank  enough  to 
confess  that  in  "Drifting  Apart,"  his  story  of  Gloucester 
fishermen,  based  on  "Mary,  the  Fisher's  Child,"  there  was 
displayed  a  weak  comedy  element  in  the  introduction  of  the 
stage  soubrette  and  the  funny  man.  Even  in  "  Margaret  Flem 
ing,"  he  evidently  felt  that  there  were  didactic  spots  in  the 
dialogue.  So  that  by  this  self-criticism  of  the  artist,  we  are 
able,  to  a  certain  extent,  to  catch  glimpses  of  the  whole-souled 
sincerity  of  the  man,  who  sought  truth  externally,  simply 
because  he  saw  clearly  its  spirit.  As  he  has  written:  "Art 
is  a  personal  expression  of  life.  The  finer  the  form  and  color 


JAMES  A.  HERNE  101 

and  the  larger  the  truth,  the  higher  the  art.  .  .  .  Art  is  uni 
versal;  it  can  be  claimed  by  no  man,  creed,  race,  or  time, 
and  all  art  is  good." 

The  change  that  came  over  Mr.  Herne  after  having  pro 
duced  "  Drifting  Apart "  was  coincident  with  an  intellectual 
and  spiritual  change  affecting  both  himself  and  his  wife. 
As  I  have  said,  they  were  mentally  receptive  of  new  ideas. 
They  were  following,  in  Huxley,  in  Spencer,  in  Howells,  in 
Tolstoi,  those  tendencies,  which,  attracting  one  to  higher 
conceptions  of  ethical  duty  and  of  social  justice,  brought  one 's 
view-point  nearer  to  the  common  life.  Mrs.  Herne  was 
always  mentally  keen.  Hamlin  Garland  writes  of  her: 
"To  see  her  radiant  with  intellectual  enthusiasm,  one  has 
but  to  start  a  discussion  of  the  nebular  hypothesis,  or  to 
touch  upon  the  atomic  theory,  or  doubt  the  inconceivability 
of  matter.  She  is  perfectly  oblivious  to  space  and  time  if 
she  can  get  some  one  to  discuss  Flammarion's  supersensuous 
world  of  force,  Mr.  George's  theory  of  land-holding,  or 
Spencer's  law  of  progress." 

The  next  artistic  effort  that  Mr.  Herne  put  his  hand  to 
was  by  no  means  fraught  with  elements  of  popularity.  It 
was  truth  laid  bare,  with  no  gloss  of  romanticism  about  it, 
however  much  it  might  be  saturated  with  feeling;  souls 
stark  naked  in  their  sin,  and  in  their  vigorous  dealing  with 
sin.  One  marvels,  after  having  read  "Margaret  Fleming," 
what  there  is  of  tangible  literary  value  in  such  a  story,  for 
one  undoubtedly  feels  its  value.  It  proves  nothing,  it  has  no 
direct  intent;  it  is  a  segment  of  life  painted  with  no  idea  of 
gaining  art  effects,  but  showing  how  very  close  to  life  one's 
vision  may  be.  The  realism  is  almost  pitiless  in  its  conse 
quences;  it  is  almost  photographic  in  its  detail.  It  is  the 
commonplace  story  of  the  man  who  goes  wrong,  and  whose 
illegitimate  child  is  nurtured  by  his  wife  after  she  has  dis 
covered  his  transgressions.  It  is  the  close  tragedy  of  a 


102  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

woman's  struggle  to  estimate  at  its  full  worth  the  animal 
instinct  in  man. 

For  the  student  of  American  drama,  Mr.  Herne's  activity 
as  a  writer  falls  easily  into  two  classes.  We  may  narrow  our 
consideration  down,  so  as  to  include  "Margaret  Fleming" 
and  "The  Rev.  Griffith  Davenport"  on  the  one  hand,  with 
"Shore  Acres"  and  "Sag  Harbor"  on  the  other;  the  former 
representing  his  realism,  and  the  latter  representing  —  if 
we  must  designate  him  by  a  term  —  his  rural  characteristics 
which  were  more  vital  than  those  of  Denman  Thompson,  as 
seen  in  "The  Old  Homestead."1  When  "Margaret  Flem 
ing"  was  ready  for  presentation,  the  dramatist  found  him 
self  in  a  peculiar  position,  for  no  manager  dared  risk  capital 
on  a  piece  so  freed  from  what  the  public  was  usually  accus 
tomed  to,  and  so  devoid  of  a  happy  ending.  Likewise,  there 
were  certain  situations  which  appeared  to  shock  the  conven 
tional  taste.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Hamlin  Garland 
began  to  take  that  interest  in  the  Herne  family  which  rap 
idly  ripened  into  the  deepest  friendship.  He  and  Mr. 
Howells  seemed  to  recognize  the  rare  originality  which  lay 
in  the  simple  style  of  Mr.  Herne 's  work.  Even  in  "Drift 
ing  Apart,"  melodramatic  though  it  was,  there  were  certain 
direct,  incisive,  and  simple  passages  of  writing  that  partook 
of  the  very  highest  and  best  qualities  in  realism. 

So  that,  naturally,  "Margaret  Fleming"2  perforce  appealed 
to  these  two  literary  men,  who  became  so  far  interested  as 
not  only  to  suggest  the  idea,  but  to  further  the  scheme  of 
leasing  Chickering  Hall  in  Boston,  and  of  presenting  the 
play  to  an  intellectual  assemblage  which,  unfortunately,  is 


1  Mr.  Thompson  (1833-1911)  was  not  prolific.    "The  Old  Home 
stead"  was  originally  called  "Joshua  Whitcomb." 

2  "Shore  Acres"  was  really  being  evolved  by  Mr.  Herne  before 
the  writing  of  "Margaret   Fleming."    The   play  was  dedicated  to 
his  children,  Julie,  Chrystal,  and  Dorothy. 


JAMES  A.  IIERNE  103 

difficult  to  gather  together  for  a  theatre  performance.  The 
piece  ran  for  several  weeks,  but  it  was  a  financial  failure,  al 
though  the  press  recognized  a  certain  subtle  force,  a  certain 
plain  and  vital  power  which  were  rarely  seen  upon  the  stage. 
This  was  in  the  year  1890,  when  Ibsen  was  practically  un 
known  to  the  American  theatre-going  public,  when  the  slight 
est  deviation  from  the  accepted  conventions  of  morality  was 
regarded  as  boldness.  It  was  this  attitude  of  mind  more 
than  anything  which  the  play  itself  contained,  that  involved 
it  in  such  disastrous  consequences.  When  the  piece  was 
revived  at  the  Art  Theatre  in  Chicago,  during  1907,  with 
Miss  Chrystal  Herne  in  the  title  role  and  with  Mrs.  Herne 
as  stage  manager,  all  of  the  critics  recognized  its  forcefulness 
and  its  serious  simplicity,  deploring  the  fact  that  it  had  re 
mained  in  obscurity  for  so  long  a  time,  when  in  every  respect 
one  was  justified  in  regarding  it  as  a  high  specimen  of  Ameri 
can  dramatic  art. 

Mr.  Herne's  next  piece,  "The  Rev.  Griffith  Davenport,"1 
met  with  the  same  cold  reception,  and  it  is  natural  to  find 
him  becoming  somewhat  discouraged  as  to  the  possibilities  of 
carrying  the  American  public  with  him  along  the  lines  which 
meant  most  to  him,  and  which  he  was  best  fitted  to  follow. 
So  he  determined  thereafter  to  add  popular  qualities  to  his 
stark  realism.  Not  for  a  moment  could  he  have  discarded 
his  innate  ability  to  deal  with  simple  things;  but  he  drew 
upon  the  stock  subterfuges  of  the  old  school,  at  times  becom 
ing  a  little  over-sentimental,  whereas  one  of  the  beauties  of 
"Margaret  Fleming"  was  the  depth  of  its  tragic  sentiment. 

The  interstices  between  the  completion  of  his  several 
pieces  were  filled  up  by  Mr.  Herne's  acting,  and  likewise 
by  his  excellent  stage  management,  which  was  always  in 
demand  for  large  productions.  There  are  some  who  believe 

1  It  was  begun  in  the  summer  of  1894,  and  not  produced  until 
1899. 


104  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

that  as  a  stage  manager  Mr.  Herne's  influence  upon  the  pres 
ent  is  more  marked  than  as  a  dramatist.  Through  kindly 
guidance  and  illuminating  interpretation,  he  impressed  his 
methods  upon  all  of  the  actors  who  were  under  his  care;  and 
many  on  the  stage  to-day  regard  Mr.  Herne  as  the  one  force 
which  meant  most  to  them  in  their  careers.  But  in  the 
future,  Mr.  Herne's  position  will  be  dependent  entirely  upon 
his  value  as  a  dramatist. 

There  are  a  few  facts,  leading  up  to  the  close  of  Mr.  Herne's 
life,  which  have  to  be  regarded.  After  going  to  Boston, 
around  1890,  he  lived  in  a  modest  little  home  at  Ashmont, 
in  the  suburbs.  The  failure  of  "Margaret  Fleming"  was 
coincident  with  a  rather  unsettled  period  in  the  history  of 
literary  Boston,  a  period  which  —  to  use  Mr.  Garland's 
expression  —  was  marked  by  a  discovery  of  the  fact  that 
to  meet  success  every  one  had  to  go  to  New  York.  So  that 
about  the  same  time  he,  Mr.  Howells,  and  Mr.  Herne  all 
went  to  that  city.  It  was  not  until  1894  that  Mr.  Herne 
moved  with  his  family  to  his  estate  in  Southampton,  Long 
Island,  where  the  dramatist  did  much  of  his  final  writing, 
and  where  he  was  able  to  satisfy  his  love  of  the  sea  and  his 
thorough  enjoyment  of  home  life.  At  this  time  one  would 
be  sure  to  note  his  fondness  for  the  fields  and  his  enthusiasm 
for  tennis  and  bicycling.  Simple  of  heart  and  boyish  in 
action,  there  was  nothing  so  important  that  he  would  not 
spare  the  time  to  mend  a  broken  doll  for  his  daughter  Dorothy. 
Here  also  he  was  drawn  more  and  more  into  interests  other 
than  those  dealing  with  drama.  His  reading  became  broader, 
his  political  opinions  became  pronounced,  in  fact  so  pro 
nounced  as  to  demand  his  time  for  public  speaking  in  the 
interests  of  Henry  George.  So  ardent  was  he  in  his 
acceptance  of  the  doctrine  of  free  access  to  the  soil,  that 
his  theatrical  manager  at  one  time  advised  him  to  be  more 
careful,  inasmuch  as  his  theatre  audiences  might  resent  his 


JAMES  A.   HERNE  105 

political  views.  But  Mr.  Herne  was  not  a  man  to  fear 
consequences.  To  the  day  of  his  death,  June  2,  1901,  he 
was  an  ardent  supporter  of  Bryan. 

It  is  hard  to  separate  a  consideration  of  Mr.  Herne  the 
dramatist,  from  an  estimate  of  Mr.  Herne  the  man.  His 
plays  contain  unmistakable  signs  of  that  wonderful  kindli 
ness  of  spirit  which  was  so  marked  in  his  daily  association 
with  people.  He  was  a  man  who,  in  exterior,  might  be  con 
sidered  blunt;  but  Nature  often  endows  a  person  gifted  with 
a  love  for  the  human  with  a  certain  protection  against  a  too 
ready  acceptance  of  everyone.  And  so  that  guest  was  for 
tunate  who  succeeded  in  breaking  through  the  reserve, 
behind  which  lay  the  true  James  A.  Herne,  inveterate  joker, 
good  comrade,  and  active  thinker.  In  him  there  was  an  in 
exhaustible  fund  of  joy  and,  as  one  critic  said,  he  was  always 
intellectually  young.  This  was  strikingly  evident  in  his 
association  with  his  own  children,  the  family  comprising 
three  daughters  and  one  son:  Julie  Herne,  who  has  already 
very  creditably  illustrated  her  inherited  gift  of  playwriting 
in  "Richter's  Wife"  —  given  a  hearing  several  years  ago; 
Chrystal  Herne,  who  has  done  some  distinctive  acting;  and 
Dorothy  Herne  who  was  on  the  stage  for  several  years, 
appearing  in  "Shore  Acres."  The  three  have  all  appeared 
severally  and  together  in  the  juvenile  roles  of  their  father's 
plays.  The  son,  Jack,  is  already  exhibiting  in  his  school 
career  certain  characteristics  of  his  father.  The  household 
to-day  is  permeated  with  those  kindly  memories  which  be 
speak  more  than  anything  else  the  full  force  of  Mr.  Herne's 
influence.  A  mixture  of  Irish  keenness  of  humor  with  vigor 
of  ideas  marks  the  daily  life  of  the  Herne  family,  and  during 
the  dramatist's  lifetime  it  was  just  this  distinctive  vein  which 
was  found  in  the  general  atmosphere  around  him. 

There  are  some  men  born  to  see  clearly,  to  be  zealous 
after  the  vital  principles  of  life,  the  constant  truths  of  the 


106  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

ages,  —  the  interchange  of  thoughts  and  ideas  which  elevate 
in  the  effort  to  live  our  highest  and  best.  These  are  the 
thoughts  which  were  usually  upon  the  lips  of  Mr.  Herne.  He 
was  a  man  of  the  present,  drawing  from  the  moment  what 
was  truest  from  his  standpoint.  He  loved  the  theatre,  but 
he  was  always  careful,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  stage  direc 
tions,  to  call  attention  to  those  realistic  bits  of  acting  which 
one  identifies  with  life  rather  than  with  the  simulation  of 
life. 

He  took  his  art  seriously;1  he  recognized  in  it  a  social  force 
and  a  civilizing  factor.  He  believed  that  truth  in  art  was 
as  much  within  the  grasp  of  the  stage  as  of  the  pulpit,  that 
the  theatre  was  as  much  to  be  upheld  in  the  light  of  a  temple 
for  the  work  of  the  dramatist,  as  a  museum  was  to  be  con 
sidered  a  civilizing  factor  in  its  capacity  as  temple  for  the 
art  of  the  painter.  The  theatre  to  him  was  a  place  for  the 
upholding  of  good.  He  once  said:  "We  must  not  condemn 
an  art  or  an  institution  because  a  corrupt  civilization  has 
affected  it."  He  further  said  that  "the  province  of  the 
theatre  is  not  to  preach  objectively,  but  to  teach  subjectively." 
He  recognized  that  an  art  was  vicious  only  because  of  the 
existence  of  lovers  of  vicious  art.  He  was  broad  in  his  ideas; 
his  voice  was  always  heard  in  the  cause  of  liberty  —  whether 
political  or  artistic.  He  was  to  a  certain  extent  an  individu 
alist,  recognizing  that  the  Kingdom  of  God  is  within  us;  yet 
according  to  his  own  words:  "No  individual  can  emanci 
pate  the  race;  he  cannot  even  emancipate  his  own  calling. 
The  race  must  be  taught  to  emancipate  itself. " 

We  do  not  find  Mr.  Herne  afraid  to  state  his  own  position, 
to  formulate  his  own  belief.  What  was  he  spiritually  but 
a  firm  upholder  of  the  force  of  deed,  over  and  above  creed? 
As  though  it  were  his  own  declaration  of  faith,  he  wrote: 

1  Mr.  Herne  was  one  of  the  first  actors  to  make  a  stand  against 
the  binding  influence  of  the  Theatrical  Syndicate. 


JAMES  A.   HERNE  107 

"I  believe  that  every  human  being  has  a  certain  amount  of 
divinity — that  is,  of  God — within  him;  just  as  much  of  God 
as  he  is  capable  of  holding.  And  he  gives  out  just  as  much  of 
that  divinity  as  he  is  capable  of  expressing.  And  I  believe 
that  if  he  were  not  bound  down  by  unjust  social  laws,  that 
if  he  were  free,  the  divinity  would  grow  and  develop  and  prop 
agate  its  specie.  In  other  words,  I  believe  that  when  we 
free  men,  when  we  free  labor,  we  will  free  art,  we  will  free 
the  Church,  and  elevate  the  theatre,  and  not  until  then. " 

This  conviction,  this  recognition  of  the  spiritual  in  the 
material,  this  connection  of  the  facts  of  life  with  the  unknown 
forces  in  the  world,  were  not  confined  to  theoretical  discus 
sions.  Mr.  Herne's  political  convictions  were  likewise 
founded  upon  convictions  within  himself.  During  the 
Henry  George  campaign,  when  he  took  the  stump  in  the 
cause  of  single  tax,  we  find  him  connecting  art  with  the  civic 
life  of  the  people,  we  find  him  realizing,  as  only  a  man  can 
who  recognizes  that  art  is  an  expression  of  life,  that  the  pro 
ducers  and  the  non-producers  of  the  world  may  be  regarded 
from  the  standpoint  of  dealing  in  spirit  as  well  as  of  dealing 
in  wheat  and  hemp  and  tobacco.  Art,  whether  it  be  the 
shaping  of  a  statue,  the  writing  of  a  sonnet,  or  the  growing  of 
a  prize  ear  of  corn,  has  a  common  point  of  contact.  And 
so  again  we  hear  him  saying :  "  The  pen,  the  easel,  the  chisel, 
the  harp,  the  sock  and  buskin,  are  in  reality  tools  of  labor; 
and  the  men  who  wield  them  are  laborers,  and  their  interests 
are  swayed  by  the  welfare  and  prosperity  of  those  who  till 
the  soil,  shear  the  sheep,  and  weave  the  cloth. " 

There  are  two  characteristic  notes  throughout  Mr.  Herne's 
plays,  which  stand  as  a  fair  indication  of  the  man.  We 
find  his  love  of  the  beautiful  in  the  sense  that  truth  alone 
is  beautiful;  and  that  he  approved  of  Enneking's  belief 
that  "the  ideal  is  the  choicest  expression  of  the  real,"  is 
sufficient  measure  of  his  high  moral  outlook  upon  life.  We 


108  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

note  his  realization  of  the  human  qualities  which  underlie 
all  nature;  and  it  may  be  further  added  that  he  had  that 
pride  of  race,  that  instinct  of  the  parental  which  were  so  well 
exhibited  in  "Margaret  Fleming,"  and  in  such  comments 
as  these:  "Maternity  I  consider  the  noblest  theme  of  human 
kind;  and  I  have  no  patience  with  that  false  prudery  which 
would  keep  from  young  people  truths  they  ought  to  know 
about  in  their  purest  and  holiest  sense. " 

Mr.  Herne  is  little  known,  outside  of  a  limited  number  of 
people  in  this  country.  Now  that  he  is  dead,  it  is  hard  to 
secure  actors  who  can  fill  roles  that  he  usually  assumed 
with  such  fulness  of  interpretation.  William  Archer  has 
from  time  to  time  called  the  English  public's  attention  to 
the  plays  of  America's  most  distinctive  dramatist.  But 
unfortunately,  the  English  public  has  only  seen  the  rural 
pieces,  slightly  amended  to  accord  with  English  understand 
ing.  Even  we  in  America  have  not  been  fully  awakened  to 
what  Mr.  Herne  means  in  the  general  dramatic  and  literary 
development.  He  was  a  writer  of  direct  and  simple  prose; 
his  images  were  not  involved,  his  characters  were  not  ob 
scured  by  symbolistic  motives.  In  his  narrative,  in  his 
descriptions  —  when  he  was  at  his  best,  one  is  reminded  of 
the  vigorous  prose  of  Lincoln;  a  direct  speech  based  not  on 
any  effort  for  effect,  but  prompted  by  desire  to  say  something, 
or  to  tell  something  in  the  clearest  manner  possible.  And 
in  closing,  it  were  well  to  quote  one  paragraph  from  a  speech 
of  Mr.  Herne's,  which  stands  out  above  all  others  because 
of  the  fact  that  it  represents  the  simplicity,  the  depth,  and 
the  whole-souled  sincerity  of  the  man.  Moreover,  it  stands 
as  a  beautiful  bit  of  prose.  The  quotation  relates  to  his 
turning  from  the  writing  of  "Margaret  Fleming"  to  a  con 
sideration  of  "The  Hawthornes"  —  which  later  became 
"Shore  Acres": 

"  Mrs.  Herne  had  gone  with  two  of  our  daughters  to  spend 


JAMES  A.   HERNE  109 

a  few  weeks  of  the  summer  at  Lemoyne,  on  Frenchman's 
Bay,  in  Maine,  and  insisted  that  I  should  come  there  and 
work  on  the  play,  and  get  the  benefit  of  true  color  and  Maine 
atmosphere;  and  I  went.  What  an  exalted  idea  of  God  one 
gets,  down  in  that  old  Pine  State.  One  must  recognize  the 
sublimity  which  constantly  manifests  itself  there.  It  is 
worth  something  to  live  for  two  whole  months  on  French 
man's  Bay,  that  beautiful  inconstant  bay,  one  minute  white 
with  rage,  the  next  all  smiles  and  gently  lapping  the  foot 
hills  of  old  Mount  Desert;  with  the  purple  mist  on  the  Blue 
Hills  in  the  distance  on  the  one  hand,  the  Schoodic  range  on 
the  other;  the  perfume  of  the  pine  trees  in  every  breath 
you  inhale,  the  roar  of  the  ocean  eight  miles  away,  and  the 
bluest  of  blue  skies  overarching  all.  In  such  a  spot  as  that 
a  man  must  realize,  if  he  has  never  realized  it  before,  that 
he  and  this  planet  are  one,  and  part  of  the  universal  whole." 

NOTE 

None  of  Mr.  Herne's  plays  have  been  published.    The  only  copies 
extant  of  "  Margaret  Fleming"  and  "The  Rev.  Griffith  Davenport" 
were  burned  in  a  fire  that  totally  destroyed  "Herne  Oaks,"  Dec.  11, 
1909.    The  following  references  will  be  of  use  to  the  student: 
"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Herne."     Hamlin  Garland.     Arena,  October,  1891, 

pp.  543-60. 
"Old  Stock  Days  in  the  Theatre."    James  A.  Herne.    Arena,  6:401, 

September,  1892. 
"On  a  Barn  Roof."    Julie  Adrienne  Herne.  Arena,  December,  1893, 

pp.  131-33. 

"Mask  or  Mirror."     B.  O.  Flower.     Arena,  8:304,  1893. 
"Truth  for  Truth's  Sake  in  Drama."    James  A.  Herne.   Arena,  17: 

361-70,  Feb.,  1897.     [This  was  used  as  a  lecture  before  the 

Home  Congress  at  Cotillion  Hall,  Boston,  Oct.  27,  1896.    On 

Jan.  31,  1897,  Mr.  Herne  appeared  in  the  pulpit  of  the  First 

Congregational  Church,  Kansas  City,  and  delivered  a  lecture 

on  "The  Theatre  as  It  Is."l 
"James  A.  Herne:  Actor,  Dramatist,  and  Man."     An  appreciation 

by  Hamlin  Garland,  J.  J.  Enneking,  and  B.  O.  Flower.    Arena, 

26:282-92,  September,  1901. 


110  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

"James  A.  Herne  in  Griffith  Davenport."    Marco  Tiempo.    Arena, 

22:375,   Sept.  1899. 
"Rev.  Griffith  Davenport."     ,T.  Corbin,  Harp.  Wk.,  43:139,  213; 

John  D.  Barry,  Lit.  W.,  Bost.,  30:57;  Howells,  Literature,  4: 

265-66. 
"Margaret  Fleming."     Howells.     Harp.  Mag.,  Editor's  Study,  83: 

478,  August,  1891. 
"Herne  and  his  New  Play,  'Sag Harbor'."     F.  Wayne.  Nat'l  Mag., 

Bost.,  11:393. 
"The  American  Stage."     Third  Article.  William  Archer.  Pall  Mall 

Magazine,  20:23-37. 
"Players  of  the  Present."     John  Bouve"  Clapp  and  Edwin  Francis 

Edgett.    Dunlap  Soc.,  pt.  1,  1899,  p.  148. 
"  The  Stage  in  America."     Norman  Hapgood.    Macmillan.    Chap. 

Ill,  "Our  Two  Ablest  Dramatists." 
"Famous  Actors  of  To-day  in  America."     Lewis  C.  Strang.    Page, 

1900.    Chap.  II,  "James  A.  Herne." 

The  following  is  a  list  of  Mr.  Herne's  plays,  with  the  dates  of  first 
productions: 
"Hearts  of  Oak"  (first  produced  under  the  name  of  "Chums"): 

Baldwin's  Theatre,  San  Francisco,  Cal.,  Sept.  9,  1879. 
"  Minute  Men  " :  Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  April  5, 

1886. 
"Drifting  Apart"  (first  called  "Mary,  the  Fisherman's  Child"): 

People's  Theatre,  New  York  City,  May  7,  1888. 
"Margaret  Fleming":    Lynn  Theatre,  Lynn,  Mass.,  July  4,  1890. 

Revived,  Chicago,  111.,  Jan.  29,  1907. 
"Shore  Acres"  (formerly  called  "The  Hawthornes"):    McVicker's 

Theatre,  Chicago,  111.,  May  23,  1892. 
"Griffith   Davenport":    Lafayette  Square   Theatre,    Washington, 

D.  C.,  Jan.  16,  1899. 
"Sag  Harbor":  Park  Theatre,  Boston,  Mass.,  Oct.  23,  1899. 


CHAPTER  VII 

DAVID  BELASCO  AND  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  THE 
SWITCHBOARD 

THE  story  is  told  of  an  artist  who,  in  the  cramped  quarters 
of  his  room,  was  wont  to  do  the  most  exquisite  pictures, 
marked  by  finesse  and  delicacy;  but  no  sooner  had  he  ac 
cumulated  enough  to  afford  a  larger  studio  than  the  deft 
ness  of  his  art  deserted  him.  It  is  one  of  the  unexplainable 
points  about  all  professions  that  there  is  a  limit  to  expression ; 
that  there  is  a  line  where  effect  has  its  greatest  scope,  beyond 
which  the  appeal  goes  to  waste.  The  story  points  a  dramatic 
moral.  For  Dion  Boucicault,  in  the  course  of  his  vast  ex 
perience  as  playwright,  actor  and  manager,  discovered  that 
beyond  a  certain  number,  it  was  difficult  to  fuse  the  minds 
of  an  audience;  to  grip  their  attention  and  to  hold  it. 

Such  is  the  snag  against  which  the  stockholders  of  the  New 
Theatre  in  New  York  first  struck.  They  wished  to  build  an 
art  playhouse  of  certain  proportions,  with  a  stage  far  exceed 
ing  in  amplitude  the  proscenium  width  of  any  ordinary 
theatre,  and  suitable  for  light  opera,  spectacular  and  draw 
ing-room  drama.  This  is  well-nigh  impossible;  for,  to  illus 
trate  the  point  in  exaggeration,  it  would  be  artistic  suicide 
to  spread  the  boxed-in  delicacy  of  Pinero's  "Trelawny  of 
the  '  Wells ' "  over  an  area  of  the  Hippodrome  stage. 

And  so,  the  art  of  the  drama  is  the  art  of  all  arts,  where 
proportion,  perspective  and  color  accumulate  for  a  given 
effect.  No  one  has  studied  this  fact  to  greater  purpose  than 


112  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

David  Belasco,  in  whom  the  instinct  of  the  painter  before  his 
canvas  is  the  dominant  characteristic,  —  an  instinct  which 
must  assuredly  prompt  the  mechanism  of  any  art  theatre  we 
may  ever  hope  to  have.  When  the  story  of  scenic  realism  is 
told,  he  will  occupy  a  distinctive  position.  Such  a  survey 
will  narrate  how  Mrs.  John  Drew,  once  playing  in  "London 
Assurance,"  created  a  sensation  by  having  a  real  carpet  and 
mirror  among  the  properties  for  one  act.  Not  only  in  this,  but 
in  all  of  Boucicault's  productions,  some  marvel  of  stage 
mechanism  indicated  to  what  extent  the  scenic  art  could  be 
carried;  and  David  Belasco  has  continued  the  tradition. 

In  our  invariable  effort  to  estimate  a  man,  even  though 
what  he  next  does  may  upset  our  theories,  there  are  two 
phases  to  be  considered,  one  of  which  includes  the  other. 
Our  view  depends  primarily  on  what  he  has  done;  it  is  tem 
pered  by  the  direct  influence  which  has  been  brought  to 
bear  upon  him  by  others.  No  matter  what  claims  to  origin 
ality  an  artist  may  have,  no  matter  how  strong  the  impress 
of  his  personality,  those  subtle  workings  of  environment  and 
of  unconscious  imitation  are  perforce  obliged  to  develop 
within  the  man  a  certain  inclination,  a  certain  leaning,  which 
will  shape  his  angle  of  vision.  To  say  that  Mr.  Belasco  was 
for  a  time  private  secretary  to  Boucicault;  to  understand 
that  he  acknowledges  the  influence  upon  him  of  such  pieces 
as  "The  Robbers,"  "Pizarro,"  and  "Fazio"  ;  to  follow  the 
status  of  the  theater  when  he  first  reached  New  York  in  1882 
—  a  status  measured  by  the  success  of  such  French  melo 
dramas  as  "The  Two  Orphans,"  "The  Celebrated  Case," 
and  "Rose  Michel"  —  these  factors  will,  if  examined  in 
extenso,  explain  something  about  Mr.  Belasco's  impetus  as  a 
playwright. 

The  man  behind  his  ascetic  dress  is  a  combination  of  con 
flicting  elements.  It  is  easy  to  say  this  of  anyone;  but  in 
the  case  of  Mr.  Belasco,  facts  and  conditions  make  it  evident. 


Photo,  by   The  Misses  Selhy 


DAVID  BELASCO 


DAVID  BELASCO  113 

His  manner  betrays  the  artistic  temperament;  his  steady 
look  has  two  qualities,  one  which  explains  how  he  reaches 
the  estimate  of  an  actor's  limitations,  and  the  other  in  what 
manner  he  has  withstood  the  enmity  of  the  Theatrical  Trust. 
It  is  not  always  essential  for  a  dramatist  to  penetrate  deeply 
into  life,  but  one  cannot  deny  that  Mr.  Belasco  's  glance  has 
taken  the  details  in  thoroughly.  He  has  had  the  experience 
which  should  come  to  all 'writers  of  plays;  he  has  been  thrown 
against  the  strong  contrasts  of  living  which  are  usually  to 
be  found  in  a  mining  camp;  he  has  lurked  in  the  highways 
and  byways  of  existence,  unconsciously  gathering  those  ele 
mental  stuffs  which  are  the  essential  ingredients  in  all  pas 
sion.  These  he  has  in  most  cases  toned  down,  but  the  brutal 
elements  in  "Du  Barry"  and  in  "Adrea"  indicate  to  what 
uses  experience  of  this  kind  is  brought. 

There  is  the  ascetic  streak  in  David  Belasco,  colored  by  a 
pronounced  spiritual  and  contrasting  sentimental  verve; 
there  is  the  tinge  of  morbidity  which  is  always  attendant 
upon  a  clinical  analysis  of  psychological  phenomena.  None 
but  Mr.  Belasco  himself  can  realize  the  satisfaction  he  gained 
many  years  ago  through  watching  the  heart  of  a  woman  as 
it  lay  upon  a  plate  before  him.  Yet  such  was  the  actual 
occurrence,  all  the  while  his  imagination  playing  havoc  with 
the  physical  object.  In  like  manner  has  the  manager  studied 
the  effects  of  poisons  upon  the  body,  reasoning  out  the 
physical  contortions  as  they  differed  under  varying  condi 
tions.  This  preparation  for  the  drama  is  not  essential  to 
all  playwrights;  it  suited  Mr.  Belasco's  temperament  that 
he  seek  impressions  in  this  manner. 

Yet  side  by  side  with  this  curiosity  that  digs  into  the 
physical  causes  and  effects,  there  is  the  other  phase  character 
istic  of  the  ascetic  nature  —  the  love  of  solitude.  For  five 
years,  during  the  formative  period  of  his  life,  Mr.  Belasco 
was  under  the  guidance  of  the  priesthood  at  Vancouver. 


114  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

The  eight-year-old  boy  was  impressionable,  and  Father 
McGuire,  if  he  could  not  educate  his  tastes  away  from  the 
stage,  at  least  set  a  mark  of  ecclesiasticism  upon  his  dress, 
to  which  he  has  always  adhered.  In  contrast  with  the  little 
fellow,  asleep  in  his  cheerless  cell  of  the  monastery,  may  be 
set  the  picture  of  the  nervous  playwright  as  he  is  to-day, 
closeted  in  his  secret  studio  with  his  books  and  curios,  totally 
alone  in  a  roaring  city,  since  none  know  where  that  workshop 
may  be,  except  a  few  of  his  essential  staff. 

Here  it  is  that  he  plans  in  secret,  the  slightest  suggestions 
bringing  meaning  to  him;  he  is  a  lover  of  the  twilight;  in 
the  thunder  and  the  lightning  are  hidden  possible  electrical 
impressions.  His  is  the  quick  grasp  of  the  picturesque,  the 
striking,  the  impressionable.  In  every  respect  does  he 
practice  the  technique  of  the  painter  before  his  canvas. 

Mr.  Belasco  is  the  second  present-day  dramatist  of  note 
to  draw  upon  Iberian  traits,  for  his  family,  like  the  Pineros, 
were  of  ancient  Portuguese  extraction^  and  were  forced  to 
flee  to  England  before  the  wrath  of  the  Moors.  But,  while 
the  Pineros  remained  as  British  subjects,  the  Belascos  of 
David's  immediate  stock  proceeded  still  further  to  Victoria 
(in  Vancouver),  where  the  father  of  the  present  playwright 
became  rich  and  was  elected  Mayor,  then  became  poor  again 
and  made  another  move  to  San  Francisco,  drawn  there  by 
optimistic  accounts  which  marked  the  gold  fever  of  1849.1 

In  that  city  it  was  that  the  present  holder  of  the  name  was 
born  on  July  25,  1859.  There  is  little  to  record  of  these 
early  days.  It  must  have  been  before  his  departure  to  Van 
couver  with  Father  McGuire  that  he  assumed  juvenile  roles 
in  "Pizarro"  with  Charles  Kean;  in  "Metamora"  with 
Edwin  Forrest;  in  "East  Lynne"  with  Julia  Dean.  Before 
then,  also,  he  received  some  slight  school  training,  as  well  as 

1  In  crossing  the  Isthmus  of  Panama,  his  mother  gained  distinc 
tion  as  the  first  woman  traveler  to  do  so. 


DAVID  BELASCO  115 

gained  some  reputation  as  a  reciter  of  a  piece  called  "The 
Madman. " 

When  he  returned  from  his  priest  friends,  he  was  thirteen 
and  not  yet  quite  through  his  education,  for  he  was  placed 
at  Lincoln  College,  from  which  he  was  graduated  in  1875. 
When  he  was  scarcely  fourteen,  he  could  boast  authorship 
of  "Jim  Black;  or,  The  Regulator's  Revenge."  All  through 
these  years  forces  in  him  and  around  him  were  pointing  to 
ward  the  stage.  It  does  not  take  much  to  fan  a  liking  into 
a  passion,  and  it  is  recorded  how,  having  once  gone  to  see 
"  Hamlet, "  the  boy  had  rushed  home  to  the  garret  and  there 
played  through  the  drama,  even  essaying,  at  this  early  age, 
to  rewrite  the  dialogue  from  memory! 

Then  followed  the  months  of  a  struggling  actor.  He 
began  by  supporting  Mary  Welles  in  "The  Lion  of  Nu 
bia,"  and  soon,  throwing  his  whole  future  into  the  dramatic 
scales,  Mr.  Belasco  experienced  the  vicissitudes  of  the  ex 
hibitor  of  Egyptian  mysteries,  of  the  melodramatic  "  super, " 
even  for  a  while  playing  Hamlet  and  Richard  III  himself 
in  the  mountain  towns  and  backwoods  settlements  of  the 
West.  He  was  fortunate,  during  this  period,  in  being  brought 
into  direct  contact  with  the  golden  era  of  American  acting. 
Edwin  Booth,  John  McCullough,  E.  A.  Sothern,  William 
Florence,  Edwin  Adams  and  Adelaide  Nielson  were  the 
stars  in  the  San  Francisco  of  those  days.  He  even  joined 
So  them's  "Dundreary"  company,  appearing  as  the  valet. 

Thereafter  began  the  training  of  David  Belasco  as  assis 
tant  stage  manager  of  a  theatre  in  Virginia  City,  where  the 
stock  company  was  prepared  for  any  emergency,  from  farce 
to  tragedy,  and  where  Belasco  was  supposed,  much  as  Ibsen 
had  been  expected  at  Bergen,  to  fit  dramas  for  production. 
He  did  more  than  this,  since  he  was  required  to  act  as  well  as 
to  manage.  While  serving  in  this  capacity,  Dion  Boucicault 
and  his  company  arrived  to  fill  an  engagement.  The  Irish 


116  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

wizard,  in  the  writing  of  plays,  could  juggle  with  three  plots 
at  a  time;  he  had,  with  Laura  Keene,  produced  a  play  within 
an  abnormally  short  period  by  rehearsing  one  act  while  in 
the  midst  of  writing  another.  He  was  alert  to  activity  of 
all  kinds,  and  he  found  energy  to  his  liking  in  the  assistant 
stage  manager. 

When  he  left  Virginia  City,  Boucicault  carried  Belasco 
with  him  as  private  secretary,  and  to  his  young  associate 
"Led  Astray"  was  dictated,  besides  the  scenes  for  many 
other  productions.  It  is  not  likely  that  the  effectiveness 
which  marked  the  Boucicault  drama  would  escape  the  future 
wizard  of  American  stage-craft.  "  Arrah-na-Pogue,"  when 
it  reached  San  Francisco,  became  the  one  strong  outside 
influence  to  affect  the  theatrical  conditions  on  the  Pacific 
slope.  The  secretary  might  have  gone  to  New  York  soon 
after  had  his  mother  not  intervened;  and  it  was  just  as 
well,  since  the  experience  which  he  was  now  to  gain  as  man 
ager  and  stock  dramatist  of  the  Baldwin  Theatre  matured 
his  managerial  powers  and  at  the  same  time  brought  him 
into  association  with  James  A.  Herne,  who,  for  a  while,  was 
at  the  same  theatre.  The  play-goer  of  the  present  gener 
ation  needs  must  weigh  the  value  of  such  repertoires  as  old- 
time  actors  used  to  carry  —  dramas  that  called  for  the 
varying  shades  of  classic  comedies,  and  the  historical  scope 
of  different  styled  tragedies.  But  though  there  was  a  con 
ventional  way  of  regulating  all  stock  companies,  Belasco, 
even  at  that  early  date,  began  to  introduce  original  methods, 
and  Charles  Thorne,  Frank  Mayo  and  Edwin  Adams  — 
all  men  of  longer  experience  —  soon  came  to  regard  his  ad 
vice  as  authoritative. 

Belasco  was  the  youngest  manager  along  the  Pacific  slope. 
The  theatre  was  run  on  a  somewhat  crude,  though  very 
artistic,  scale.  Audiences  of  all  classes  had  to  be  catered 
to,  and  a  motley,  picturesque  crowd  gathered  together  on 


Photo,  by  Sarony 


A.  M.  PALMER 


DAVID  BELASCO  117 

Saturdays  —  the  melodrama  evenings  —  to  thrill  over  "  The 
Idiot  of  the  Mountains  "  and  "The  Robber  of  the  Pyrenees." 
Thus  the  years  passed  at  the  Baldwin  Theatre,  the  Grand 
Opera  House  and  the  Metropolitan.  When  finally  Belasco 
decided,  in  1882,  to  go  to  New  York,  his  confidence  in  him 
self  was  backed  by  an  enviable  experience.  No  schooling 
is  better  for  a  playwright  than  just  this  intimate  contact 
which  Mr.  Belasco  had  had  with  the  hundreds  of  plays  that 
came  under  his  supervision.  Already  his  hand  had  been 
turned  to  dramatizations,  adaptations  and  even  original 
work. 

But  when  the  Mallorys  engaged  him  as  stage  director 
and  stock  dramatist  of  the  Madison  Square  Theatre,  they 
probably  placed  more  store  by  his  general  usefulness  as  a 
producer,  as  a  manipulator  of  other  people's  crude  material, 
than  as  an  author  of  any  formidable  proportions. 

New  York  was  then  going  through  its  final  decade  of 
old-time  managerial  policies ;  the  Theatrical  Trust  was  still 
to  come;  the  American  playwright,  in  the  face  of  foreign 
importations,  was  finding  it  difficult  to  gain  recognition; 
Mr.  Howard  was  battling  hard  and  receiving  rough  handling 
by  the  critics  for  his  "Saratoga."  A.  M.  Palmer  was  meet 
ing  success  with  French  melodramas;  Wallack,  atune  to 
English  melodrama,  was  soon  listening  to  Belasco's  tempting 
offer  of  "La  Belle  Russe";  Daly,  at  the  most  disastrous 
period  of  his  career,  was  tottering  through  an  opera  craze. 
The  latter  manager  had  begun  with  marked  success;  such 
pieces  as  "Under  the  Gas  Light,"  "Article  47"  (for  Clara 
Morris)  and  "Pique"  (for  Fanny  Davenport)  had  obtained 
instant  favor.  He  had  been  drawing  from  France,  when  he 
adapted  "Frou-Frou"  for  Agnes  Ethel,  and  he  had  turned 
to  the  German  of  Mosenthal  for  "  Leah,  the  Forsaken."  It 
was  after  this  that  he  found  a  mine  in  the  German  farce. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  conglomerate  emotional  material, 


118  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Mr.  Belasco  found  the  Madison  Square  Theatre  devoted 
to  the  quiet  domestic  play,  so  quiet  that  it  had  drawn  down 
upon  it  the  derisive  title  of  "  milk  and  water"  drama.  Natu 
rally  the  distorted  methods  of  acting  would  not  suit  this 
style  of  play.  Those  were  the  days  of  over-emphasis,  big 
periods,  measured  intervals,  and  rounded  gesture.  Mr. 
Belasco  proceeded  to  sacrifice  all  of  this  bombast,  much  to 
the  surprise  and  doubt  of  his  co-workers.  The  comedian 
no  longer  was  allowed  to  wait  for  a  laugh;  it  had  either  to 
come  through  the  pure  unctiousness  of  the  character-acting, 
or  not  at  all.  Such  a  regime  as  the  young  manager  instituted 
soon  won  the  confidence  of  everyone. 

The  little  playhouse  on  Twenty-fourth  Street  was  in  the 
hey-day  of  its  existence;  A.  M.  Palmer  soon  became  inter 
ested  in  its  success;  the  stock  company  which  bore  its  name 
was  winning  public  favor;  a  school  of  acting  was  to  involve 
the  labors  of  Henry  C.  De  Mille  and  Boucicault,  who  turned 
to  it,  broken  in  health  and  sorely  disturbed  in  mind.  Mr. 
De  Mille  was  play-reader  for  the  theatre,  which  meant,  for 
example,  that  in  three  months  he  examined  two  hundred 
manuscripts  submitted  by  would-be  American  playwrights! 

When,  however,  a  drama  was  accepted,  it  was  soon  turned 
over  to  Mr.  Belasco  for  final  shaping.  This  is  what  happened 
to  Mr.  Howard's  "The  Young  Mrs.  Winthrop";  suggested 
changes  were  made  on  all  sides,  and  the  final  re-casting  was 
accomplished  with  Belasco's  assistance.  The  result  was 
that  by  the  production  Mr.  Howard  gained  warm  com 
mendation  from  the  press,  and  Mr.  Belasco  immediately 
found  himself  in  possession  of  considerable  prestige. 

What  followed,  up  to  the  time  that  the  latter  joined  forces 
with  Daniel  Frohman  at  the  Lyceum,  in  1885,1  constitutes  the 
history  of  the  New  York  theatre  rather  than  the  develop- 

1  See  "Memories  of  a  Manager."    Daniel  Frohman.    1911. 


DAVID  BELASCO  119 

ment  of  the  American  dramatist.  It  is  only  necessary  to 
say  that  under  such  conditions,  and  together  with  Mr. 
Belasco's  temperament,  there  grew  into  dominant  propor 
tions  a  managerial  grasp,  an  analytical  keenness  for  large 
effect,  a  marvelous  readiness  to  assimilate  according  to  his 
needs,  an  instinctive  and  unerring  eye  for  the  romantic. 

Up  to  this  time  little  of  his  actual  stage  writing  had  brought 
him  any  unusual  distinction.  Between  his  arrival  in  the 
East  and  his  collaborating  with  De  Mille,  "La  Belle  Russe" 
(Wallack's,  1882),  " The Stranglers of  Paris"  (1883),  "Hearts 
of  Oak"  (with  Mr.  Herne)  (1884) f,1  and  "May  Blossom" 
(1SS4)2  had  met  with  success.  But  there  were  also  to  his 
credit  titles  which  are  not  even  familiar  in  name  to  the 
present  generation  of  threatre-goers.  In  this  category  are 
included  "Valerie,"  "Miss  Helyett,"  "Pawn  Ticket  210,"t 
"The  Moonlight  Marriage,"  "The  Doll  Master,"  "A  Christ 
inas  Night,"  "  Within  an  Inch  of  His  Life,"  "  The  Lone  Pine," 
"American  Born,"  "Not  Guilty,"  "The  Haunted  House," 
"Cherry  and  Fair  Star,"  "Sylvia's  Loves,"  "Paul  Arniff," 
"The  Curse  of  Cain,"  "The  Millionaire's  Daughter,"  "The 
Ace  of  Spades"  and  "The  Roll  of  the  Drum."  One  is  not 
far  wrong  in  inferring  that,  however  effective  these  may  have 
been,  there  was  more  melodramatic  situation  in  them  than 
definite  intent,  nor  did  they  have  sufficient  distinctiveness 
in  themselves  to  survive  the  immediate  atmosphere  and 
demand  which  encouraged  them.  Had  it  not  been  that  Mr. 
Belasco's  art  instinct  as  a  constructive  manager  was  upper 
most  at  the  time,  he  might  have  been  contributing  at  this 
moment  to  the  broad  melodrama  which  thrives  on  the 
morbid,  however  it  may  seek  to  glorify  virtue.  But  so 

1  Plays  marked  thus  (f)  indicate  collaboration. 

8  This  is  the  only  one  of  Mr.  Belasco's  plays  that  has  so  far  been 
published.  It  is  included  in  the  Frmch  series.  "The  Grand  Army 
Man"  has  been  "novelized"  by  Harvey  J.  O'Higgins. 


120  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

characteristic   did   this   art   side  become,  that   one   cannot 
separate  the  manager  from  the  author. 

By  the  deftness  of  stage  manipulation  which  had  made 
him  so  sought  after  that  the  Mallorys  on  occasions  were 
forced  to  lend  him  to  others,  public  attention  was  now  cen 
tred  upon  the  Lyceum.  The  association  of  Mr.  De  Mille 
with  Mr.  Belasco  resulted  in  four  plays,  all  marked  with  certain 
conventions  that  characterize  Mr.  Howard  at  his  best  — 
stock  situations  that  balance  three  sets  of  opposite  characters : 
the  ingenue  roles,  the  romantic  hero  and  heroine,  and  the 
middle-aged  couple  upon  whom  comedy,  bordering  nigh 
on  to  farce,  is  unerringly  practiced.  We  see  this  in  "The 
Charity  Ball"  (1889),  as  well  as  in  "Men  and  Women" 
(1890).  Then  there  was  "The  Wife,"  a  drama  which  in 
1887  was  brought  into  the  courts,  where  an  unsuccessful 
suit  was  tried,  with  Frances  Aymar  Mathews  as  the  plaintiff. 
But  the  greatest  coup  which  the  two  made  together  was  the 
preparation  of  a  role  in  "Lord  Chumley"  (1888),  for  E.  H. 
Sothern,  which  marked  the  son  with  some  of  the  excellent 
comedy  capabilities  belonging  to  his  father,  whose  "Lord 
Dundreary"  was  undoubtedly  the  source  of  inspiration. 
It  must  be  said  that  the  collaborators  succeeded  in  develop-* 
ing  a  certain  human  sympathy  for  the  fop  which  was  not 
unlike  the  loveableness  so  pronounced  in  the  earlier  role.1 

Between  1890  and  1895,  which  last  date  marks  the  inception 
of  the  Theatrical  Syndicate,  perhaps  one  might  say  until 
after  "Zaza"  (1899)  and  "Naughty  Anthony"  (1900), 
which  ended  his  association  with  any  members  of  the  organ 
ized  managerial  system,  Mr.  Belasco  must  be  regarded  only 
as  a  successful  stage  manager  and  a  skilful  playwright  and 
adapter.  "The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me"  (1893),  written 

1  In  1889,  Mr.  Belasco  and  Mr.  Franklin  Sargent  produced  the 
"Electra"  of  Sophocles;  while  on  the  Pacific  Coast  Mr.  Belasco 
mounted  a  version  of  the  Passion  Play. 


DAVID  BELASCO  121 

in  conjunction  with  Franklyn  Fyles,  was  one  of  the  initial 
successes  of  the  Empire  Theatre;  "The  Heart  of  Maryland" 
(1895)  was  one  of  the  first  of  his  dramas  stamped  by  a  large 
piece  of  stage  technique,  such  as  the  swinging  bell,  with  the 
heroine  holding  to  the  clapper;  "Zaza"  (1899)1  indicates 
the  deftness  with  which  his  translation  quite  eclipsed  the 
real  author  of  the  French  original,  and  his  training  of  Mrs. 
Carter  in  the  title  role  exemplifies  the  wronderful  illumina 
tive  power  with  which  he  can,  in  his  instruction,  carry  an 
actress  to  the  heart  of  a  character  and  bring  out,  as  a 
photographer  does  on  a  negative,  those  fine  lines  which  are 
never  evident  in  the  first  moments.  From  this  time  on, 
however,  his  progress  has  been  marked  by  two  dominant 
notes;  he  has  fought  against  odds,  and  has,  by  his  atti 
tude,  brought  public  attention  to  bear  upon  both  sides  of 
the  Trust  problem ;  he  has,  likewise,  incited  public  curiosity 
through  the  lavishness  of  his  stagecraft,  so  thoroughly  tak 
ing  hold  of  popular  appeal  as  well-nigh  to  hypnotize  by 
what  is  peculiarly,  yet  legitimately,  termed  "the  Belasco 
atmosphere." 

There  are  always  two  sides  to  a  given  question,  and  it 
is  never  wise  to  discuss  one  without  laying  as  much  emphasis 
upon  the  other.  Suffice  it  to  say  at  the  present  moment, 
whatever  move  Mr.  Belasco  has  made  against  the  Trust  has 
been  planned  quite  as  much  in  the  cause  of  independent 
art  as  to  further  his  personal  interests.  He  has  never  once 
gainsaid  the  advantage  of  systematizing  theatrical  finance 
so  as  to  bring  the  money  question  down  to  a  thorough  bank 
ing  basis ;  but  he  has  questioned  the  ethical  side  of  the  book 
ing  problem.  This  places  in  control  of  a  few  hands  the 
portioning  of  time  engagements  along  theatrical  circuits 

1  Other  plays  during  this  time  were  "The  Senator's  Wife"  (1892), 
and  "The  Younger  Son"  (1893). 


122  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

and  involves  the  playhouses  stretched,  chain-like,  across  the 
continent. 

It  is  a  matter  of  stage  history  how  certain  actors  made 
bold  to  stand  against  the  dictatorship  of  the  Trust,  and 
how,  one  by  one,  they  succumbed.1  Not  so  Mr.  Belasco, 
and  because,  in  his  theatre  he  was  determined  to  practice 
his  own  policy,  and  not  be  dictated  to,  he  soon  realized 
that  along  that  chain  of  theatres  he  was  irretrievably  de 
barred;  which  meant  that  he  must  either  play  in  halls  or 
be  kept  out  of  certain  towns.  This  necessitated  his  planning 
for  his  own  theatres,  in  New  York,  in  Washington,  in 
Philadelphia,  and  in  Boston.  One  by  one  the  difficulties 
constituting  his  exile  are  being  overcome.  But  to  add  to 
the  condition  of  theatrical  monopoly,  Mr.  Belasco  has  had, 
likewise,  to  face  a  personal  antagonism,  which  is  hardly  a 
matter  for  theatre  discussion,  however  much  it  may  have 
been  enlarged  because  of  Mr.  Belasco's  theatre  success. 

Since  the  opening  of  his  Belasco  playhouse  in  New  York, 
the  manager  has  presented  a  long  list  of  remarkable  successes 
from  the  standpoint  of  scenic  artistry  and  drawing  qualities. 
He  has  engaged  the  efforts  of  John  Luther  Long,  of  Charles 
Klein,  of  Richard  Walton  Tully,  and  of  the  Misses  Phelps 
and  Short  as  collaborators;  and  under  his  undoubted  genius 
as  a  painstaking  instructor  there  have  come  to  the  fore  such 
names  as  Mrs.  Carter,  Miss  Bates,  Mr.  Warfield,  Mr.  Frank 
Keenan,  Miss  Starr,  Miss  Walker  and  Miss  O  'Neil.  Further 
more,  as  material  for  his  success,  he  has  depended  upon 
"Madame  Butterfly"!  (1900  —  Long),  "  Du  Barry"  (1900), 
"The  Darling  of  the  Gods"f  (1902  — Long),  "Sweet  Kitty 


1  For  a  few  articles  on  the  Syndicate,  see:  International,  1 : 99-122, 
Jan.,  1900,  Norman  Hapgood;  Fortn.  Rev.,  79:1010-1016,  June,  1903, 
Charles  Hawtrey;  Leslie's  Monthly,  Oct.,  1904,  581-592;  Nov.,  1904, 
31-42;  Dec.,  1904,  202-210;  Jan.,  1905,  331-334;  Cosmopolitan,  38: 
193-201,  Dec.,  1904. 


DAVID  BELASCO  123 

Bellairs"  (1903  —  dramatization),  "  Adrea"f  (1905  — 
Long),  "  The  Girl  of  the  Golden  West"  (1905) ,l  "  The  Rose  of 
the  Rancho"f  (1906  —  Tully),  "The  Grand  Army  Man" f 
(1907— Phelps  — Short).  To  this  list  may  be  added  his 
assistance  as  manager  in  the  success  of  "The  Auctioneer" 
and  "The  Music  Master,"  by  Charles  Klein,  and  of  "The 
Warrens  of  Virginia,"  by  William  C.  De  Mille,  the  son  of  his 
old  collaborator.2 

What  are  the  elements  that  mark  Mr.  Belasco,  or  it  would 
be  more  in  order  to  say  on  what  special  elements  does  Mr. 
Belasco  place  the  stamp  of  his  own  temperament  and  genius? 
I  have  been  fortunate  in  having  before  me  the  stage  copies 
of  his  important  dramas,  and  I  cannot  but  marvel  at  the 
strokes  which  are  made  by  his  unerring  eye,  unerring  in  the 
sense  that  his  strokes  seem  always  to  fulfil  the  special  re 
quirement  which  he  at  the  moment  needs.  The  intricate 
movement  in  the  first  act  of  "Zaza,"  the  filmy  threads  of 
broken  dialogue,  the  minute  directions  of  the  dressing-room 
scene,  where,  not  for  a  moment,  even  in  the  reading,  is  the 
imagination  left  in  doubt  as  to  the  details  of  business  —  here 
is  the  painter  in  his  most  impressionistic  manner,  flinging 
splashes  of  humanity  against  a  canvas,  splashes  which  draw 
together  the  moment  they  are  brought  in  continuous  and 
active  relation  one  with  the  other. 

"The  Darling  of  the  Gods,"  over-weighty  as  it  is  in  its 
mounting,  would  be  difficult  to  follow  in  the  manuscript, 
were  Mr.  Belasco 's  infinite  care  of  small  matters  not  con- 


1  Made  into  an  opera  by  Puccini,  and  sung  at  the  Metropolitan 
Opera  House  during  the  season  of  1910-11. 

2  Among  Mr.  Belasco 's  recent  successes  may  be  mentioned  "The 
Lily"  (1910)  by  himself,  and  "The  Concert,"  adapted  from  the  Ger 
man  by  Leo  Ditrichstein.  Walter's  "The Easiest  Way"  (1909)  created 
great  discussion  in  New  York,  but   was  debarred,  by  act  of  the 
Mayor,  from  Boston.    During  the  Spring  of  1911,  he  presented 
William  De  Mille's  "The  Woman." 


124          THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

scientiously  set  down.  Even  so,  the  demand  this  play  makes 
on  the  imagination,  in  addition  to  the  amount  of  imagi 
nation  it  shows  in  itself,  is  indication  of  the  visual  insight 
which  he  and  his  collaborator  have  brought  to  bear. 

I  do  not  contend  that  light  plots,  and  property  plots,  and 
calcium  plots  entitle  a  man  to  the  distinction  of  playwright, 
but  the  power  to  conjure  up  the  effective  contrasts  of  high 
light  and  shadow  is  as  much  to  Mr.  Belasco's  credit  as  it 
is  to  the  artist  who  paints  upon  a  large  canvas.  The  stage 
settings,  sometimes  overrich  in  detail,  are  nevertheless 
almost  always  unfailing  in  their  atmospheric  effects.  The 
courtesan,  Du  Barry,  is  given  a  setting  which  balances  the 
savage  abandon  of  her  nature  with  the  licentious  terrorism 
of  the  period.  "  Adrea, "  barbaric  throughout,  does  not  fail 
to  create  a  disgust  which  is  too  strong  to  be  counteracted 
by  the  moment  of  sacrifice  in  the  end.  These  are  not  char 
acteristics  which  are  new  to  Mr.  Belasco;  they  were  evi 
dent  in  him  long  before,  even  though  they  were  not  fully 
developed.  Some  may  think  that  Sardou  was  the  influence 
behind  this,  but  the  young  dramatist  had  written  "  La  Belle 
Russe"  before  Fanny  Davenport  began  with  "Fedora" 
in  a  list  which  ended  with  "  Gismonda."  It  was  simply  the 
innate  genius  of  the  stage  manager  who  may  not  write  for 
literature,  but  who,  while  he  remains  active,  is  a  constant 
source  of  pleasure. 

There  is  nothing  so  disillusionizing  as  an  empty  theatre 
in  daylight;  the  gaping  orchestra  chairs  show  the  absence 
of  a  responsive  crowd;  the  space  from  pit  to  dome,  from 
centre  stage  to  family  circle,  is  like  an  empty  shell  waiting 
for  sound  and  light.  But  if  you  possess  even  the  slightest 
sense  of  the  theatre,  the  scenery  with  its  daub  of  paint,  the 
switchboard  with  its  banks  of  levers,  the  stage  hands  in  their 
shirtsleeves,  will  represent  the  elements  of  a  great  art,  whose 
spirit  gilds  the  mechanics  of  the  play. 


DAVID  BELASCO  125 

Take  for  granted  that  the  scene  is  naught  but  a  house  of 
cards,  that  the  back-drop  on  close  view  is  no  more  nor  less 
than  a  splash  of  color,  —  behind  it  all  is  the  instinct  that 
creates  perspective  from  the  flat.  The  mechanics  of  the 
stage  have  been  brought  to  such  perfection  that  their  misuse 
instantly  reveals  the  lack  of  the  artist. 

The  stage  is  an  organism,  a  whole  of  many  parts;  the 
idea  set  in  dialogue  and  action  must  be  clothed  in  speech, 
light,  and  scene.  This  is  the  supreme  work  of  the  stage 
manager,  —  to  draw  these  things  together  in  their  truest 
relationship. 

One  has  a  right  to  speak  of  the  psychology  of  the  switch 
board,  to  humanize  the  mechanics  of  the  theatre.  The  elec 
trician  holds  nature  in  his  hands;  he  has  thought  out  the 
elements  of  a  prairie  sun,  and  he  measures  its  intensity  by 
the  number  of  switches  in  use.  At  rehearsals  he  has  diffused 
the  scene  with  many  moonlights,  until  the  Italian  glamour 
appealed  to  his  feeling.  The  stage  has  changed  since  the 
time  Mary  Anderson's  Juliet  faced  the  headlight  of  a  loco 
motive,  held  aloft  by  a  negro  boy  as  the  inconstant  moon. 
Psychology  is  essentially  a  fluid  state,  and  the  progress  of 
electricity  has  made  it  possible  for  stage  lighting  to  be  fluid, 
to  be  subject  to  imperceptible  shades,  to  absorb  the  individ 
ual  rays  in  a  general  suffusion. 

Not  one  of  our  present-day  managers  has  so  profited  by  the 
response  of  the  electric  switchboard  to  human  psychology 
as  Mr.  Belasco;  in  his  hands  it  is  the  very  essence  of  atmos 
phere,  the  very  indicator  of  the  scene's  tone.  Whether  it 
be  the  enervating  blaze  of  sunlight  in  the  opening  act  of 
"The  Rose  of  the  Rancho,"  or  the  cold  gray  dawn  after  the 
night's  anguish  in  "Madame  Butterfly,"  the  result  repre 
sents  no  mechanical  accident.  Once,  not  so  long  ago,  effect 
used  to  be  entirely  artificial;  the  villain's  entrance  was 
heralded  by  dark,  restless  music  from  a  few  violins,  and  by  the 


126  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

roll  of  a  kettledrum.  But  to-day,  Mr.  Belasco  has  driven 
incidental  sentimentality  from  the  orchestra  by  the  depen 
dence  upon  the  switchboard. 

What  do  we  mean  by  the  psychology  of  stage  lighting? 
Simply  that  every  emotional  effect  of  large  import  results 
in  a  corresponding  direction  being  given  to  the  electrician. 
To  take  an  external  example,  suppose  the  stage  in  semi- 
darkness;  a  character  enters  with  a  lighted  candle.  One 
naturally  expects  an  increase  in  light,  but  the  intensity  must 
move  across  the  stage  with  the  movement  of  the  candle. 
It  is  here  that  the  electrician,  from  his  platform,  plays  upon 
his  switchboard.  By  a  system  of  interlocking,  and  of  dim 
ming  the  flow  of  current,  he  can  send  across  the  "foots"  a 
flare  of  lights  to  follow  the  candle  flame;  one  bulb  is  made  to 
glow  as  the  other  fades. 

Such  is  the  ease  of  gaining  an  elementary  effect,  but  the 
principle  is  the  same,  however  complicated  the  requirement. 
In  his  studio,  Mr.  Belasco  first  imagines  his  canvas;  he  then 
places  his  "light  plots"  in  the  hands  of  his  electrician  for 
fulfilment.  At  rehearsal  he  adds  to,  modifies,  rejects,  fus 
ing  the  whole  as  a  painter  does  with  his  brush.  His  stage 
directions  at  first  become  mere  skeleton  notes  of  transitory 
feeling.  His  assistant  stands  near,  pencil  in  hand,  watching 
the  restless  move  of  the  manager,  searching  among  the  lights 
for  what  he  wants.  The  switchboard  is  taxed  to  its  utter 
most,  mixing  color  to  accord  with  a  certain  quality  of  shadow 
in  Mr.  Belasco 's  mind. 

If  a  drama  is  big,  if  an  actor's  art  is  expressive,  a  story 
may  often  be  ably  suggested  by  pantomime;  its  emotional 
color,  range,  and  variation  in  the  same  way  may  be  sketched 
in  light.  Having  rehearsed  his  company  beyond  the  "letter 
perfect"  point,  Mr.  Belasco  assembles  them  for  light  effects. 
His  experiments  are  as  much  with  you  as  on  you.  Not 
only  must  the  actors  harmonize  among  themselves,  but  also 


DAVID  BELASCO  127 

with  the  lights.  To  their  own  emotional  interpretation  of  a 
role,  they  must  add  the  atmospheric  effect  of  the  stage  light. 
For  six  minutes  the  curtain  was  up  before  a  word  was  spoken 
in  "The  Rose  of  the  Rancho."  It  was  a  somnolent  scene; 
those  who  saw  it  felt  the  drowsy  vapor  of  the  glow,  the  still 
air,  and  the  enervating  heat.  Let  us  discount  the  state 
ment  of  the  press-agent  that "  so  realistic  was  the  scene,  it 
made  the  stage  carpenters  drowsy,"  and  be  satisfied  with 
the  plausible  fact  that  the  imagination  of  the  actor  caused 
the  switchboard  to  react  upon  himself. 

Undoubtedly,  a  stage  manager  should  make  his  people 
feel  the  lights;  if  the  scene  is  cold,  the  actor  should  find  it 
easy  to  shiver  within  the  bleak,  steely  rays  devoid  of  all 
warm  color.  In  this  way  imitation  approaches  reality; 
the  actor  responds  by  absorbing  every  element,  condition,  or 
circumstance,  in  order  to  make  his  body  warm  or  cold,  as 
the  case  may  be. 

Every  electrician  is  in  possession  of  his  cue,  knows  the 
story  of  the  play,  and  is  made  to  calculate  the  emotional 
requirements  in  terms  of  his  switchboard.  He  is  no  machine, 
no  mere  feeder  of  the  stage  with  light.  The  human  tempo 
of  the  situation  pulses  in  his  veins;  he  lowers  or  raises  his 
levers  until  every  blemish  is  removed.  There  must  be  no 
blotch,  no  streaks,  for  the  lights  should  glide;  sharp  edges 
should  be  made  to  blend. 

In  that  rehearsal  for  lights,  the  manager  must  consider 
the  balance  of  white  surface  and  shadow.  A  glint  is  thrown 
on  a  ribbon,  a  bit  of  lace,  a  bare  arm  or  neck;  this  must  be 
balanced  by  the  absence  of  light  somewhere  else.  The 
switchboard  must  have  a  tempo  regulated  to  accord  with  the 
beat  of  emotion.  Not  only  that,  but  the  light  is  guided  by 
the  color  of  a  costume,  toned  to  contrast  with  other  dresses 
possibly;  even  the  hair  limits  the  intensity  of  light,  and  if 
the  features  of  an  actor  are  strong,  a  strong  current  upon  the 


128  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

face  would  only  serve  to  reveal  a  "war  map"  of  lines.  A 
white  light  brings  disillusionment  in  its  path. 

Rehearsal  is  a  matter  of  constant  shifting-  a  thousand  and 
one  directions  are  given  which  never  find  their  way  on  the 
prompter's  script  of  the  play.  "I  think  I'll  make  that  so 
and  so,"  says  the  Stage  Manager,  and  the  Carpenter  looks 
askance  at  the  Electrician,  while  the  Scene  Painter  goes 
back  to  his  pots  and  brushes,  to  try  again  some  perspective 
cliff  or  shore.  "  I  not  only  want  a  moon,  but  a  Japanese 
moon, "  cried  Mr.  Belasco  during  a  rehearsal  of  "  The  Darling 
of  the  Gods." 

In  the  matter  of  the  switchboard,  Mr.  Belasco  stands  in 
a  new  light.  He  is  not  the  conventional  stage  manager;  he 
is  a  lover  of  nature,  having  felt  the  close  of  day  on  the  plains, 
and  seen  the  first  streak  of  dawn  in  Italy.  He  has  been  an 
investigator  of  all  phases  of  the  physical  as  well  as  of  the 
emotional.  He  is  not  merely  satisfied  with  reaching  the  eye, 
but  he  must  strike  the  heart;  his  lights  are  always  acces 
sories;  they  are  made  to  reinforce  or  to  counteract;  they 
must  serve  a  purpose,  otherwise  be  discarded.  At  times  he 
places  too  much  dependence  upon  such  effect;  we  feel  it  in 
the  way  he  "plays  up"  A  brunette  or  blonde,  working  his 
lights  to  show  her  to  the  best  advantage.  But  in  the  ma 
jority  of  cases,  his  results  are  artistic  rather  than  theatrical. 

From  one  of  the  iron  bridges  in  the  flies,  flung  far  above  the 
proscenium  arch  on  the  side,  the  stage  presents  to  view  every 
point  of  vantage.  The  five  sets  of  border  lights,  consisting  of 
two  hundred  and  seventy  lamps  as  an  average,  the  three  banks  of 
bulbs  in  the  "foots,"1  the  light  strips  ready  to  be  placed  in  any 
wing,  the  baby  lenses  to  counteract  any  false  reflection  of  the 
"foots"  when  shadow  is  thrown  on  the  face  at  inopportune 
moments,  the  large  lenses  on  the  bridges,  the  lamps  centred 

1  Mr.  Belasco  is  now  experimenting  to  do  away  with  the  "  foots." 


DAVID  BELASCO  129 

on  particular  stage  accessories,  the  stereopticon  for  cloud 
effects  during  a  storm  or  sun  or  moonlight,  —  with  these  the 
electrician,  at  the  final  rehearsal,  has  "fixed"  his  diagram, 
which  he  has  by  him  for  the  first  few  regular  performances. 

Amber,  blue,  red,  and  white  are  the  general  colors  in  use 
on  the  stage,  besides  the  direct  flow  of  lime-light.  But  not 
always  will  the  standard  color  do;  then  the  electrician  mixes 
his  own  stain  and  dips  the  incandescent  bulb  therein.  The 
hard  problem  for  him  to  consider  is  not  how  to  reach  the 
proper  light  out  of  darkness;  it  were  easy  thus  to  obtain  a 
realistic  sun.  But  the  difficult  matter  is  to  have  the  sun  come 
after  the  appearance  of  a  gray  dawn;  in  other  words,  to  ob 
tain  light  effects  out  of  light. 

The  psychology  of  the  switchboard  is  largely  the  problem 
of  counteracting  shadows,  of  bringing  emotion  into  high 
light.  That  is  why  the  old  idea  that  tragedy  must  be  given 
the  tragic  tone  is  an  exploded  theory,  since  contrast,  rather 
than  agreement,  is  the  electrician's  asset.  Death  lurks  in 
the  sunlight  as  well  as  in  the  shadow.  Was  it  not  in  Forbes 
Robertson's  "Hamlet"  that  Ophelia  came  broken-minded 
into  an  orchard  pink  with  the  touch  of  Spring? 

There  is  not  an  inch  of  surface  on  the  stage  that  cannot 
be  subjected  to  a  flood  of  light  which  may  be  softened  or 
intensified  slowly  by  means  of  simplicity  dimmers,  —  devices 
even  more  responsive  than  the  cock  of  a  gas  jet.  So  impor 
tant  a  matter  is  the  switchboard,  that  a  portable  one,  in  no 
way  as  extensive  as  the  stationary  one,  is  carried  on  the  road 
as  an  important  part  of  the  play's  emotional  effect. 

In  "The  Rose  of  the  Rancho,"  during  the  course  of  the 
first  scene,  with  the  sun  beating  down  on  the  Mission  garden, 
with  the  Padre  asleep  on  his  vine-covered  porch,  the  elec 
trician  is  busy  at  the  switch.  Some  lenses  are  focussed  for 
light,  others  for  shadow,  amber  is  thrown  upon  the  gate, 
straw  medium  paints  the  orange  tree.  A  rose  bush  must 


130  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

have  a  special  ray  upon  it,  while  the  arbor,  and  certain  roses, 
must  catch  the  glint  of  sunlight.  One  lens  strikes  the  foun 
tain,  centred  on  the  stage,  coloring  the  stone  seat  upon  which 
Juanita  'flirts  with  Kearney.  All  the  while  the  baby  lens 
is  kept  busy  spotting  the  chief  actors  on  the  stage. 

The  significant  part  of  psychology  as  applied  to  stage 
lighting  is  that  in  the  highest  perfection  of  its  handling  it 
is  never  fixed,  particularly  in  plays  dependent  upon  special 
atmosphere.  If  the  sunlight  strikes  the  broad  front  of  the 
Mission  steeple  at  the  top,  the  same  intensity  hardly  suffices 
to  flood  the  entire  building.  As  the  play  progresses,  the  day 
progresses,  and  the  lights  vary;  these  changes  occur  in 
accordance  with  the  electrician's  cues.  The  siesta  hour  of 
this  first  act  approaches  the  eventide,  and  Juanita  falls  deeper 
in  love  with  the  "Gringo,"  Kearney,  as  the  shadows  grow 
more  and  more.  Thus  the  "light  plot"  reads: 

"At  cue:  'Meet  me  at  my  posada/  change  lenses  Nos. 
7,  5,  3  on  lower  bridge  to  light  amber,  also  lens  on  upper 
bridge  R.,  and  lenses  on  stage  R.  3E.;  also  lens  back  stage 
on  bridge  L.,  and  the  four  open  boxes  in  3.  Put  on  1st  border 
blue  to  f  and  2d,  3d,  and  4th  borders  red  to  full;  take  down 
whites  to  J." 

This  shorthand  notation  is  indicative  of  mechanical  re 
sponse;  levers  are  handled  like  the  shift-key  of  a  typewriter, 
banks  of  lights  are  interlocked,  so  as  to  respond  to  one  force 
at  the  same  time.  Then  comes  Kearney's  caressing  words: 
"Let  me  hold  your  little  brown  hand  in  mine."  Many 
the  lovers  who  have  strayed  in  a  garden  of  roses  during  the 
gathering  twilight  which  creeps  upon  them!  But  here  on 
the  stage  there  must  be  a  "change  of  all  lenses  on  bridges 
and  open  boxes  to  red,  except  the  two  on  bridge  left,  which  go 
to  salmon;  take  down  foots  to  J,  and  amber  borders  to  J; 
also  dim  the  tubular  lamps  on  window  and  arbor  R. " 

All  the  time  the  scene  grows  darker;  the  lamp  on  the  rose 


DAVID  BELASCO  131 

bush  is  blinded,  the  fountain  is  cast  in  shadow,  the  belfry  is 
made  misty,  while  the  blues  begin  to  mingle  with  the  reds 
for  evening. 

Finally,  there  is  uttered  Juanita's  cry  of  love  as  Kearney 
leaves  her,  determined  on  saving  her  property  from  the  land- 
grabbers,  looting  California.  Hence,  at  cue,  "Oh,  Gringo, 
why  did  you  come?" 

"Slowly  pass  amber  color  over  baby  lens  in  1  R.  (This 
lamp  is  on  Juanita  at  the  time;  the  color  is  just  passed  over 
the  lamp  and  taken  off  again  while  the  line  is  spoken.)  At 
same  cue,  take  off  both  lamps  in  flies,  L.  1  E.  This  light 
stands  till  end  of  act." 

Here  one  has  suggested  only  a  fractional  part  of  the  me 
chanics  behind  the  stage — the  psychology  of  the  switchboard, 
which  is  only  effective  when  employed  with  reticence, 
with  reason,  with  intelligent  understanding,  with  feeling. 
There  is  the  cartoon  use  of  light  as  seen  in  the  spotter  lime- 
streak  following  the  clown  in  the  circus;  there  is  the  melo 
dramatic  use  of  light,  noted  in  the  splotch  of  green  thrown 
upon  the  face  of  Mansfield  while  he  changed  from  Jekytt  to 
Hyde.  But  the  artist  at  the  switchboard  is  a  believer  in 
the  minor  notes  as  the  best  notes,  and,  as  regards  Mr.  Bel- 
asco's  management,  it  might  be  truly  claimed,  he  does  not 
act  without  reason.  He  has  often  said  he  does  not  believe 
in  dragging  in  sound  simply  for  the  sake  of  sound;  a  wise 
principle  to  uphold,  even  if  it  is  not  always  followed. 

"The  Rose  of  the  Rancho"  serves  our  purpose  for  illus 
trating  the  psychology  of  the  switchboard,  because  its 
atmosphere  involves  constantly  shifting  light;  any  one  of 
Mr.  Belasco's  plays  largely  depends  upon  accessory  of  this 
character,  and  upon  the  mechanics  demanding  constant 
attention.  In  the  third  act  of  this  California  romance,  we 
are  given  a  dark  stage  creeping  to  full  light:  reds  and  blues 
which  succumb  to  early  dawn  ambers.  The  scene  is  on  the 


132  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

roof,  Kearney  waiting  for  the  day.  From  the  main  switch 
the  electrician  is  working  his  "dimmers"  slowly;  some 
clusters  of  blue  —  for  instance  —  must  take  a  generous  ten 
minutes  to  gain  full  intensity.  Here  and  there  on  the  stage 
"boards,"  at  places  known  as  pockets,  which  are  merely 
indicated  spots  where  light  plugs  may  be  inserted,  a  con 
necting  link  is  to  be  had  between  a  lamp  and  the  main  cur 
rent.  The  electrician  can  only  manage  the  general  circuit 
of  "foots"  and  "borders"  and  house  lights;  he  has  assist 
ants  who  are  drilled  by  him  to  work  the  separate  lanterns 
from  the  wings  and  the  bridges.  Every  movement  of  the 
persons  on  that  supposed  roof  is  attended  by  a  correspond 
ing  balance  of  incandescence. 

The  ordinary  dress-suit,  drawing-room  comedy  has  a 
fixed  light  which  does  not  concern  itself  greatly  with  the 
switchboard.  But  whenever  the  latter  is  used,  when  the 
light  values  are  supposed  to  move  for  the  sake  of  theatrical 
effects  so  broad  as  to  hide  physiological  consistency,  then 
the  lack  of  taste  is  felt  as  well  as  seen.  There  is  certain  to 
be  incongruity  of  color,  and  also  streaks  of  light,  ill-con 
cealed,  if  concealed  at  all,  by  the  lanterns  which,  in  the  hands 
of  the  thinking  mechanic,  usually  absorb  and  blend  when 
necessary.  We  once  had  a  production  of  "A  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,"  more  Edison  than  Shakespeare,  more 
mechanical  device  than  Puck,  more  accessory  than  art.  On 
the  other  hand,  Forbes  Robertson's  desert  scene  in  Shaw's 
"chronicle"  play,  where  C&sar  first  glimpses  Cleopatra  in 
the  arms  of  the  Sphinx,  was  made  spacious  merely  through 
the  varying  of  blue  shadows  on  an  almost  empty  stage,  with 
a  back-drop  of  endless  sky. 

We  are  on  the  road  to  a  great  revolution  in  the  pyschology 
of  the  switchboard.  Ever  since  Garrick  brought  with  him 
from  France  the  footlight  which  replaced  the  ancient  chan 
delier,  we  have  been  studying  how  to  rid  ourselves  of  it; 


DAVID  BELASCO  133 

v.  e  have  a  right  to  discard  anything,  to  introduce  any  device 
which  will  suit  our  purpose,  and  still  retain  the  object  of 
illusion  while  enriching  the  picture.  No  one  has  yet  estab 
lished  sufficiently  well  the  arguments  for  abandoning  foot 
lights.  There  have  recently  been  added  to  the  mechanics  of 
stagecraft  those  electrical  accessories  which  will  facilitate 
the  subtle  effects  of  shade  and  tint. 

One  sympathizes  with  the  son  of  Ellen  Terry,  yet  every 
body  interested  in  the  stage  as  a  civic  necessity  on  one  hand, 
and  as  an  artistic  need  on  the  other,  will  agree  that  Gordon 
Craig  in  "The  Art  of  the  Theatre"  has  carried  his  theories 
of  stage  management  a  step  too  far,  even  as  Maeterlinck 
first  did,  in  formulating  his  principles  for  the  static  drama, 
in  claiming  for  puppet  plays  substance  rather  than  shadow. 
No  theatre  man  will  deny  that  Craig's  designs  of  scenes,  so 
shaded  as  to  secure  bos  relief  without  "  foots,"  are  excellent 
where  the  relief  is  needed.  No  manager  is  wholly  oblivious 
to  the  fact  that  though  drama  is  essentially  action,  it  is  also 
picture,  where  every  line  of  the  scene  in  its  relation  with  the 
size  and  color  of  the  players,  where  every  position, —  all  mean 
relative  grouping,  fixed  for  balance  and  perspective.  Miss 
Terry's  scenic  background  for  Ibsen's  "The  Vikings  at 
Helgeland"  adequately  fulfilled  the  theory.  Let  the  theatre 
become  a  masterpiece  of  mechanism,  with  a  technique  pecu 
liar  to  itself,  with  a  director  above  scene  painter,  actor,  play 
wright,  himself  more  creative  than  all  three  put  together,  — 
let  this  bring  us  a  dramatic  renaissance,  and  one  will  scarce 
need  a  written  story  to  compass  a  plot  so  quickly  flashed 
upon  the  mind  in  light,  song,  dance,  and  pantomime. 

Many  of  Mr.  Belasco's  plays,  as  plays,  are  lacking  in  the 
qualities  which  his  scenic  artistry  for  the  moment  supplies. 
"The  Girl  of  the  Golden  West"  is  an  excellent  example 
of  such.  The  moving  scene  down  the  mountainside  to  the 
door  of  the  saloon  does  succeed  marvelously  in  taking  one 


134  THE   AMERICAN   DRAMATIST 

out  of  the  street  and  away  from  the  city.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  moving-picture  concerns,  which  to-day  threaten  the 
theatre,  might  well  point  to  this  scene  as  a  legitimate  excuse 
for  their  existence. 

But  that  Mr.  Belasco,  with  his  scenery  and  with  his  stage 
business,  is  inventive,  becomes  evident  in  any  of  his  plays. 
Take  "  The  Rose  of  the  Rancho,"  where  Juanita  and  Kearney 
are  seated  by  the  well;  the  lover  moves  nearer  and  nearer, 
whereupon  she  seizes  the  gourd  and  throws  water  on  the 
seat  between  them  —  a  stroke  of  business  worth  a  page  of 
dialogue.  Take  " The  Warrens  of  Virginia"  —  after  the  war, 
the  Southern  General  is  dozing  in  his  garden;  for  the  space 
of  a  second,  one  hears  the  sigh  of  the  wind,  the  spectral  roll 
of  drums,  the  spirit  breathing  of  the  bugles  —  and  he  wakens 
—  all  done  with  the  deft  modulation  which  might  have  been 
turned  into  bathos  by  the  slightest  over-accentuation.  The 
manager  is  thus  painting  for  others. 

These  are  the  qualities  marking  David  Belasco,  which 
represent  his  place  in  American  drama.  He  is  the  creative 
manager  who  writes  his  plays  by  acting  them;  who,  faced 
by  two  stenographers,  evolves  his  characters  and  situations 
in  actual  movement,  now  thinking  of  a  speech  which  he  pins 
up  somewhere  for  his  last  act,  again  jotting  down  some  busi 
ness,  some  note  about  this  act  or  that,  but  always  moving 
surely  toward  the  completion  of  the  first  draft,  so  as  to  begin 
rehearsals.  Were  some  of  his  plays  published  just  as  they 
are  typewritten  for  the  stage,  they  would  be  invaluable  texts 
for  the  amateur  playwright;  they  would  point  to  the  plati 
tudinous  but  none  the  less  absolute  fact  that  the  theatre, 
taken  as  a  whole,  demands  that  the  playwright  must  be 
master  of  more  than  one  set  of  tools. 


Photo,  by  JlTiite 


HENRY  C.  DE  MILLE 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE   CASE   OF   PERCY  MACKAYE   AND  HIS  FATHER 

NOT  only  has  the  drama  an  historical  evolution,  but,  like 
any  other  human  activity,  it  is  subject  to  inherited  traits, 
and  is  influenced  by  the  spirit  of  the  age.  Ibsen  believed  in 
the  theory  of  imbibing  the  thoughts  that  were  in  the  air, 
rather  than  in  limiting  those  thoughts  by  an  amount  of 
contradictory  reading.  There  is  no  doubt,  for  instance, 
that  through  Mr.  Carnegie's  gift  of  ten  millions  of  dol 
lars  for  the  furtherance  of  peace,  many  more  people  will  be 
forced  to  think  seriously  on  the  subject,  and  already  there 
is  as  much  discussion  about  who  will  write  the  great  peace 
drama,  as  about  who  will  be  the  great  American  dramatist. 

Subtle  forces  mould  a  man,  but  also  evident  circum 
stances.  In  "Famous  Actor-Families  in  America,"  I  sug 
gested  the  possibilities  of  applying  Galton's  law  of  inheri 
tance  to  the  material  I  had  gathered  from  various  sources. 
The  method  might  likewise  serve  as  a  measure  in  deter 
mining  how  far  Henry  De  Mille's  career  prompted  his  son, 
William,  to  follow  the  same  bent,  and  in  tracing  those 
speculative  characteristics  of  Steele  Mackaye  which  are 
now  evident  in  his  son,  Percy.  Sons  of  fathers  who  hold 
positions  in  a  profession  are  most  likely  to  continue  in  that 
profession,  but  whereas  young  De  Mille,  furthered  by 
Belasco,  uses  the  theatre  more  as  a  business  than  as  an  art, 
young  Mackaye  is  prone  to  forget  the  theatre  in  a  commend 
able,  but  over-serious,  attitude  toward  art. 


136  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

The  theatre  has  always  been  subject  to  attack;  it  has 
always  been  threatened  by  poor  quality  and  plethoric 
quantity.  Young  De  Mille  takes  things  as  he  finds  them, 
making  a  reporter's  use  of  a  certain  dramatic  ability;  young 
Mackaye  is  more  morose  than  rebellious  over  the  theatre, 
about  which  he  speculates  in  ideal  fashion.  But,  never 
theless,  these  men  either  have  to  conform  to  the  conventions 
of  the  time  and  to  the  interests  of  the  period,  or  else  submit 
to  the  relentless  verdict  of  the  people. 

In  the  days  when  the  Madison  Square  Theatre,  in  West 
Twenty-fourth  Street,  New  York,  was  the  center  of  theatri 
cal  interest,  and  when  the  Mallory  Brothers  combined  this 
business  with  that  of  issuing  The  Churchman,  which  still 
survives  as  a  religious  weekly,  theatre  managers  were  read 
ing  their  own  plays.  Daly  always  gave  personal  attention 
to  the  manuscripts  sent  him.  Palmer  announced  openly 
that  he  was  not  favorable  to  the  native  playwright.  But, 
to  judge  by  the  personal  note-book  of  Henry  De  Mille,  who 
read  plays  with  the  assistance  of  Daniel  Frohman,  Franklin 
Sargent,  and  David  Belasco,  the  manuscripts  continued  to 
flow  into  the  office  of  the  little  playhouse.  In  three  months, 
during  1883,  some  two  hundred  dramas  by  Americans  were 
read,  and  the  possible  subjects  were  never  accepted  without 
material  alteration.  When  Bronson  Howard's  "Young 
Mrs.  Winthrop"  was  in  preparation,  it  was  rewritten  in 
accordance  with  a  multitude  of  suggestions,  and  was  then 
handed  over  to  Belasco,  who  had  already  evinced  his  re 
markable  gift  for  certain  phases  of  stage  management.  The 
theatre  of  that  day  knew  what  it  wanted,  and  the  play 
wright  was  whipped  into  shape.  The  current  papers  were 
then  as  persistent  in  their  attack  upon  the  insipidity  of 
the  Madison  Square  drama,  as  critics  are  to-day  upon  the 
pornographic  literature  which  passes  for  virile  thinking. 

I  believe  that  both  young  De  Mille  and  young  Mackaye 


PERCY    MACKAYE    AND    HIS   FATHER    137 

have  an  advantage  in  this  race  for  dramatic  honors;  it 
remains  to  be  seen  whether  they  will  profit  by  the  past  his 
tory  of  the  theatre.  Their  fathers  were  writing  at  a  time 
when  their  contemporaries  in  dramatic  authorship  were 
Bronson  Howard,  Bartley  Campbell,  George  Jessop,  Fred 
Marsden,  A.  C.  Gunter,  Fred  Maeder,  James  J.  McClosky, 
A.  R.  Cazauran,  Edward  Harrigan,  and  H.  G.  Carleton. 
William  De  Mille  is  greatly  in  advance  of  that  period,  as 
far  as  methods  and  interests  are  concerned;  he  is  one  of  the 
numberless  newspaper  men  who  is  content  with  effective 
incident,  and  he  leaves  speculation  alone.  In  "  Strongheart," 
which  had  a  slight  problem  of  Indian  blood  in  it,  he  failed 
to  do  what  he  wished  above  all  else  to  do;  he  originally 
intended  to  consider  the  theme  inadequately  treated  by 
Edward  Sheldon  in  "The  Nigger  "  (1910).  There  is  nothing 
pioneer,  or  even  largely  stimulating  in  young  De  Mille. 

Percy  Mackaye  is  of  a  different  stature;  he  comes  out 
of  the  past  into  the  present,  and  his  ear  and  heart  have 
caught  certain  phrases  which  remind  him  of  the  Golden 
Age  of  Greece.  De  Mille  shook  from  him  the  cap  and  gown 
of  Columbia  University;  Mackaye  walks  in  the  shadow  of 
Harvard,  with  an  academic  command  of  literature,  and  with 
a  poetic  gift  which  is  not  spontaneous,  though  it  be  elab 
orate  and  earnestly  used.  Being  a  poet,  we  must  compare  him 
with  poets. 

There  is  more  hope  for  him  than  for  Stephen  Phillips, 
who  has  steadily  declined  in  effectiveness  since  writing 
"Herod."  They  both  are  wedded  to  the  past.  Phillips 
gave  us  a  Francesco,,  Mackaye  a  Jeanne  D'Arc;  Phillips 
wrote  in  the  face  of  Goethe's  "  Faust,"  Mackaye  in  the  face 
of  Chaucer's  "Canterbury  Tales."  Phillips  turned  to 
Ulysses,  Mackaye  to  Sappho  and  Phaon.  In  other  words, 
being  poets  who  are  using  the  theatre  as  a  means  of  poetic 
communication,  rather  than  as  a  high  end  in  itself,  they 


138  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

largely  adhere  to  the  Shakespeare  precedent  of  finding 
inspiration  for  their  plots  outside  of  their  native  imagina 
tions.  Unlike  John  Masefield,  whose  "Pompey  the  Great" 
is  a  rewriting  of  history,  and  is  tinged  through  and  through 
with  broad  and  colorful  expressions  of  democratic  strength, 
they  unfold  their  dialogue  in  lines  of  haunting  beauty  but 
of  reminiscent  measure. 

Yet  Mr.  Mackaye  possesses  a  humor  which  is  totally 
lacking  in  Phillips,  a  perspective  of  the  present  which  allows 
of  such  sparkling  cynicism  as  one  detects  in  "Mater"  and 
"Anti-Matrimony,"  even  if  it  is  not  sufficiently  analyzed 
to  make  him  an  invigorating  critic  of  life,  civic  and  personal. 

He  is  a  poet  who  has  "murmurs  and  scents  of  the  in 
finite  seas,"  without  any  deep  knowledge  of  the  forces 
of  existence.  Stephen  Phillips  utters  haunting  lines  of  pure, 
sensuous  beauty;  Mackaye  writes  lines  of  equal  beauty,  but 
lacking  in  that  simple,  lyric  passion  which  makes  "  Francesca 
da  Rimini"  so  delicate.  It  strikes  me  that  Mr.  Mackaye 
as  a  poet  is  only  a  vehicle  for  unformed  and  inadequately 
founded  social  views.  He  has  poetic  quality  rather  than 
the  abiding  strength  of  the  true  poet.  Occasion  has  done 
much  to  shape  his  course  from  the  very  day  that  his  father 
locked  him,  a  sixteen-year-old  boy,  in  a  room  and  told  him 
to  write  a  Storm  Choral  for  a  Columbian  Exposition  spec 
tacular,  before  he  could  come  out.1 

1  Percy  Mackaye  was  born  in  New  York,  March  16,  1875.  He 
took  a  Bachelor  of  Arts  degree  at  Harvard  in  1897.  He  is  the  author 
of  "A  Garland  to  Sylvia,"  written  while  he  was  in  Europe.  He 
matriculated  at  the  University  of  Leipzig,  and  his  studies  there 
partly  resulted  in  the  writing  of  "Fenris  the  Wolf"  (1905).  "The 
Canterbury  Pilgrims"  (prose)  was  published  in  1903,  "Jeanne 
D'Arc"  in  1906;  "Sappho  and  Phaon"  in  1907.  "The  Scarecrow  " 
(1908),  "Mater"  (1908),  "Anti-Matrimony  "  (19 10),  and  "Thorough 
breds"  (1911)  are  among  his  other  pieces. 

Among  his  produced  plays,  "Jeanne  D'Arc"  (1906)  was  mounted 
by  Sothern  and  Marlowe,  Bertha  Kalich  appeared  in  "Sappho  and 


PERCY   MACKAYE    AND    HIS    FATHER    139 

The  theatre  critic  has  from  generation  to  generation 
deplored  the  fast  decading  drama,  and  has  vainly  searched 
for  the  art  spot  in  the  chaos  of  commercialism  on  which 
to  rest  his  hopes  and  to  raise  his  temple.  Traveling  through 
the  slough,  confident  of  a  bright  to-morrow,  keen  to  the 
civic  necessity  of  the  play,  Mr.  Mackaye  is  searching  for 
the  art  centre.  He  is  intensely  earnest,  and  the  persistent 
questions  in  his  prose  work,  which  follow  one  after  the 
other  in  logical  order,  point  to  undoubted  weaknesses  in 
the  present  theatrical  system.  But  deep  conviction  on 
his  part,  however  to  be  welcomed,  does  not  result  in  a  con 
viction  on  our  part  that  endowment  on  the  one  hand  is  the 
only  way  to  free  the  theatre  of  present  methods,  or  that 
endowment  on  the  other  will  create  a  better  type  of  drama, 
especially  of  the  poetic  drama. 

Mr.  Mackaye's  "The  Playhouse  and  the  Play"  (1909)  is  a 
small  volume  of  lectures  which  have  been  delivered  before  uni 
versity  bodies,  and  which  are  now  slightly  added  to,  but 
still  unchanged  as  to  intimate  and  personal  style.  The  eye 
is  immediately  caught  by  the  frequency  of  italicized  lines; 
these  might  be  taken  as  the  measure  of  Mr.  Mackaye's 
argument.  The  scope  is  purely  local,  except  where  the 
author's  culture  seeks  to  connect  the  present  with  Greek 
civilization.  The  book  is  idealistic,  not  soundly  philosophic 
—  idealism  based  on  practical  knowledge  as  a  producing 
playwright.  In  the  building  of  a  civic  theatre  for  the  people, 
in  the  fitting  of  the  drama  to  become  a  vehicle  for  the  ideals 
of  democracy,  to  clear  the  theatrical  field  of  its  present 
business  standards  is  only  one  phase  in  the  education  of 

Phaon"  (1907),  Henrietta  Crosman  in  "Anti-Matrimony"  (1910). 
Both  "Mater"  (1908)  and  "The  Scarecrow"  (1911)  have  likewise 
been  given. 

Mr.  Mackaye  has  written  many  occasional  poems  and  has  pub 
lished  a  book  of  essays  on  the  theatre,  besides  a  prose  version  of 
Chaucer's  "The  Canterbury  Tales  "  (1904). 


140  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

dramatic  taste.  I  cannot  see  that  divorcing  art  from  money 
will  immediately  improve  art  or  better  the  supply  and  de 
mand  —  although  it  will  clear  the  theatre  atmosphere. 
Any  one  at  all  versed  in  things  of  the  stage  will  note  the  con 
sistency  of  Mr.  Mackaye's  "Law  of  Deterioration,"  based 
on  such  self-evident  facts  as  the  preponderance  of  the  emo 
tional  demand  over  the  intellectual,  brought  about  by  the 
antagonism  between  the  rational  aim  of  theatrical  business 
and  the  rational  aim  of  democratic  art.  Henry  Arthur 
Jones  established  this  condition  more  fully  in  his  essay: 
"  Our  Modern  Drama  —  Is  It  an  Art  or  an  Amusement? " 

It  is  true  that  what  the  drama  needs  is  to  be  subjected  to 
an  atmosphere  of  artistic  rather  than  of  business  compe 
tition.  Yet  one  might  justly  fear  that  the  removal  of  the 
restraining  hand  of  "profit  and  loss"  would,  largely  afford 
added  hope  to  the  dilettante,  to  the  disappointed  play 
wright.  No  suggestion  has  been  offered  as  to  whether  or 
not  there  would  be  competent  people  to  run  the  theatre, 
or  where  and  how  the  theatre-goers  would  receive  the  edu 
cation  which  would  make  them  prefer  Charles  Rann  Ken 
nedy's  "The  Winterfeast"  to  comic  opera,  or  Mr.  Mackaye's 
"Mater"  to  vaudeville.  We  all  deplore  the  benumbing 
hand  of  commercialism,  recognizing  that  business  methods, 
nevertheless,  have  raised  the  status  of  an  actor  from  that 
of  vagabondia  to  that  of  professionalism,  but  it  all  depends 
on  what  we  mean  by  absolute  freedom  in  the  theatre  to 
convince  us  as  to  whether  absolute  endowment  will  hasten 
the  desired  goal. 

In  his  lectures  on  "The  Drama  of  Democracy"  and  "The 
Dramatist  as  Citizen,"  Mr.  Mackaye  is  most  suggestive; 
if  nothing  else,  his  book  will  provoke  discussion,  and  in  my 
opinion  that  is  what  he  wishes,  for  he  is  the  dramatist  be 
neath  it  all.  The  dissemination  of  whatever  seeds  of  art 
may  be  in  the  American  people  through  channels  of  least 


PERCY  MACKAYE  AND  CHARLES  RAXN  KENNEDY 

Taken  in  the  Bohemian  Club's  Redwood  Grove,  California,  August,  1908 


PERCY    MACKAYE    AND    HIS    FATHER    141 

richness  has  blighted  the  product.  There  is  the  fine  art 
for  the  few,  and  the  vaudeville  for  the  crowd.  Conditions 
are  chiefly  responsible  for  the  absence  of  evidences  pointing 
to  a  fine  art  for  the  many,  in  other  words  —  to  a  drama  of 
democracy.  Mr.  Mackaye  has  the  evil  well  indicated  here; 
the  poet  in  him  feels  the  pulse  of  the  people.  He  writes: 
"The  status  of  the  playhouse  in  society  is  as  vital  as  the 
status  of  the  university  in  society.  The  dignity  and  effi 
ciency  of  the  one  demand  the  same  safeguard  against  in 
ward  deterioration  as  the  dignity  and  efficiency  of  the 
other.  The  functions  of  both  are  educative." 

Young  Mackaye  sincerely  desires  to  be  a  citizen,  but  his 
social  philosophy  is  weak  and  his  historical  perspective  is 
not  sufficiently  defined  to  lend  authority  to  the  definitions 
he  frames  or  to  the  strictures  he  utters  in  his  numerous 
lectures  and  talks.  From  his  father  he  has  learned  the  use 
of  a  certain  largeness  of  scene;  from  the  present  he  has 
drawn  a  certain  restlessness  and  shapeless  idealism  which  are 
waiting  for  systematizing.  But  he  has  not  found  himself, 
and  the  reason  lies,  not  in  the  theatrical  conditions  which 
surround  him,  but  in  the  inheritance  and  the  tradition  which 
are  his  —  the  inheritance  of  his  father,  and  the  tradition  of 
Harvard  University. 

James  Steele  Mackaye  was  born  in  Buffalo  during  1844, 
and  at  the  age  of  seven  moved  to  New  York.  His  father 
was  a  man  of  some  means,  who  had  a  home  just  outside  of 
Buffalo,  known  as  Castle  Mackaye ;  while  his  grandfather,  a 
Scotchman  of  sturdy  build,  wore  the  cloth,  and  died  at  the 
advanced  age  of  one  hundred  and  twenty,  boasting  of  hav 
ing  lived  one  hundred  years  in  the  same  parish. 

The  move  to  New  York  was  due  to  legal  connections  of 
Mackaye's  father,  who  likewise,  as  a  man  of  affairs,  once 
held  the  position  of  president  of  the  Western  Union  Telegraph 
Company.  It  was  not  until  he  went  to  Paris,  at  the  age  of 


142  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

sixteen,  that  Steele  turned  his  attention  to  the  stage,  and 
even  then  there  was  no  opportunity  to  gratify  his  interest 
practically.  At  eighteen  he  came  back  to  America,  where 
for  sixteen  months  he  served  in  the  army  as  a  member  of 
the  Seventh  Regiment.  Reaching  the  age  of  twenty-two, 
and  still  intent  on  the  stage,  he  procured  a  small  engage 
ment  at  the  Old  Bowery  Theatre  in  New  York,  but  soon 
after  was  sent  abroad  as  an  agent  for  buying  pictures.  Once 
more  in  Paris,  he  haunted  the  studios  and  the  theatres,  and 
chance  took  him  in  the  path  of  Frangois  Delsarte,  who  recog 
nized  in  him  a  startling  likeness  to  his  dead  son,  and  who 
took  him  under  his  tutelage. 

From  now  on,  and  for  many  years  to  come,  Mackaye  was 
to  be  an  exponent  of  principles  in  acting  which  subdued  the 
old-time  ranting,  and  aimed  at  the  reproduction  of  natural 
movement,  and  of  what  the  papers  of  the  time  called  "  emo 
tionally  gentle  manner."  So  closely  did  the  youthful  actor 
identify  himself  with  the  methods  of  his  teacher,  that  he 
was  known  in  the  papers  as  "Delsarte  Mackaye";  but  no 
amount  of  ridicule  could  deter  him  from  his  set  purpose. 
Later  in  life,  Mackaye  wrote: 

"  A  man  to  be  a  true  actor  must  not  only  possess  the  power 
to  portray  vividly  the  emotions  which  in  any  given  situation 
would  be  natural  to  himself,  but  he  must  study  the  char 
acter  of  the  man  whom  he  impersonates,  and  then  act  as 
that  man  would  act  in  a  like  situation.  This  is  what  Del 
sarte  taught  and  what  Rachel,  Sontag,  and  Calvalho  studied 
with  him." 

During  1874,  Mackaye  lectured  extensively  on  the  Del 
sarte  system,  speaking  of  the  occult  nature  of  emotion;  of 
the  science  of  expression,  illustrated  by  pantomime;  of  the 
necessity  for  aesthetic  gymnastics,  illustrated  by  chromatic 
scales  of  emotion  in  the  face  and  figure. 

At  that  time  there  was  something  more  or  less  theoretical 


PERCY   MACKAYE    AND    HIS    FATHER    143 

in  such  a  method;  people  were  regarded  as  poseurs  who 
adopted  it.  Hence  it  was  that  Mackaye  was  spoken  of  as 
a  speculative  dreamer.  It  is  true  that  throughout  life 
people  said  of  him  that  his  crude  idealism  was  due  to  de 
fects  in  his  education;  his  fancies  forced  him  into  many 
experiments  which  could  not  possibly  find  practical  ful 
filment.  But  nevertheless,  he  was  of  a  serious  turn  of  mind, 
and  of  an  experimental  nature,  and  these  characteristics  com 
bined  to  give  him  a  distinct  streak  of  philosophical  specu 
lation,  which  is  detected  in  his  utterances  upon  aesthetics. 

When  Delsarte  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  Franco- 
Prussian  war,  Mackaye  was  traveling  in  Switzerland  (July, 
1870);  and  on  his  return  to  America,  hearing  that  his  old 
friend  was  in  a  destitute  condition,  he  immediately  arranged 
for  a  lecture  at  Harvard  University,  the  proceeds  from  which 
—  amounting  to  ten  thousand  francs  —  were  sent  to  Del 
sarte.  The  latter  died  in  1871,  bequeathing  to  his  pupil 
many  unpublished  manuscripts.  There  is  no  discounting 
Mackaye's  enthusiasm  over  the  Delsarte  principles;  his 
interest  was  not  only  deep,  but  his  execution  vivid,  so  much 
so  that  Forrest,  listening  to  him,  jumped  up  in  that  im 
petuous  manner  of  his,  and  exclaimed:  "By  G — d,  my 
noble  boy,  you  have  let  in  a  flood  of  light!"  Not  only  did 
he  establish  a  school  of  acting  which  should  uphold  French 
naturalism,  but  his  first  venture  in  the  theatrical  field,  the 
St.  James  Theatre,  which  opened  in  January,  1872,  was 
popularly  spoken  of  as  the  Delsarte  house. 

At  the  very  outset  it  is  well  to  emphasize  the  theatrical 
rashness  of  Mackaye  and  the  philosophic  severity  of  his 
criticism ;  it  is  well  to  note  that  his  theory  of  acting  affected 
his  work,  making  it  self-conscious;  while  his  tendency  to 
experiment  made  him  limit  or  expand  his  ideas  in  mathe 
matical  ratio.  A  man  of  many  failures,  he  was  yet  the  fore 
runner  of  diverse  excellent  theatrical  innovations.  His 


144  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

double  stage  for  the  Madison  Square  Theatre  was  not  as 
perfect  as  the  revolving  platform  at  the  New  Theatre,  but 
the  principle  of  usefulness  was  practically  the  same.  His 
Spectatorium  may  have  fallen  into  ruins,  carrying  with  it 
a  fortune  and  the  health  of  its  conceiver,  but  it  foreshadowed 
the  modern  Hippodrome.  He  never  profited  by  failure,  and 
his  enthusiasm  always  made  him  forgetful  of  the  fact  that 
finance  requires  practical  guarantee.  Yet  no  man  of  the 
time,  unless  it  was  Henry  De  Mille,  had  better  opportunity 
than  he  to  know  the  physical  features  of  the  theatre. 

His  career  as  actor  opened  in  1872,  when  he  appeared 
in  "  Monaldi,"  a  Venetian  story  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
based  on  Washington  Allston's  novel.  His  pale,  classic 
features,  his  aquiline  nose,  his  sensitive  mouth,  his  intel 
lectual  and  quiet  expression,  all  tended  to  mark  this  tall, 
slender,  and  graceful  man  with  distinction.  I  have  before 
me  a  clipping  which  conveys  an  impression  of  Mackaye's 
nature  beneath  the  practice  of  his  Delsarte  methods:  "If 
he  were  paralyzed  from  the  neck  down,  he  could  express 
more  with  his  face  than  nine-tenths  of  justly  celebrated 
actors  could  with  all  the  appliances  which  nature  and  art 
have  given  them.  His  speechlessness  is  as  crammed  with 
expression  as  a  thunder-cloud  with  electricity."  There  were 
stirring  within  him  many  conflicting  interests;  the  author, 
actor,  and  lecturer  did  not  meet  on  common  ground.  During 
part  of  1872,  Mackaye  was  in  Paris,  studying  with  Regnier, 
while  in  the  winter  of  that  year  he  remained  in  England, 
meeting  Charles  Reade,  Wilkie  Collins,  and  Tom  Taylor. 
With  the  latter  he  was  led  into  further  experiment,  collabo 
rating  in  the  writing  of  such  plays  as  "A  Radical  Fool,"  "Clan- 
carty,"  and  "Arkwright's  Wife."  At  this  time,  also,  he  was 
prompted  to  dramatize  George  Eliot's  "Silas  Marner"; 
the  matter  went  as  far  as  his  meeting  the  novelist,  but  at 
the  crucial  point,  Lewes,  "  the  dragon,"  stepped  in  and  put 


Photo,  by  barony 


STEELE  MACKAYE 
Aet.  35 


PERCY   MACKAYE    AND    HIS    FATHER    145 

a  stop  to  further  negotiations.  It  was  in  the  Spring  of  this 
year  that  Tom  Taylor  successfully  urged  Mackaye  to  ap 
pear  as  Hamlet,  bringing  to  his  interpretation  all  the  origi 
nality  of  the  Delsarte  method  (May  5,  1872).  An  edition  of 
the  play  was  issued  with  notes,  and  with  indication  of  new 
stage  business. 

Evidently  Mackaye  was  encouraged  by  his  start,  for  I 
have  the  record  of  a  booklet,  printed  in  1872  while  he  was 
in  Paris,  presenting  "Extracts  from  the  Press  in  Reference 
to  the  Three  Months'  Dramatic  Season  of  James  Steele 
Mackaye  in  New  York  City,  from  January  8  to  April  1, 
1872."  During  that  period,  Nym  Crinkle  appears  to  have 
come  to  his  rescue,  while  he  was  being  attacked  for  his 
persistency  in  the  Delsarte  methods.  This  was  the  season 
of  the  St.  -  James  Theatre,  where,  on  February  1,  1872, 
Mackaye's  "Marriage,"  an  adaptation  of  Octave  Feuillet's 
"Julie,"  was  given  a  hearing. 

Mackaye's  novitiate  in  the  art  of  playwriting  was  spent 
in  collaboration  and  in  adaptation,  two  of  the  dominant 
tendencies  of  the  day.  Not  only  this,  but  the  men  associated 
with  the  Madison  Square  Theatre  reinforced  the  ideas 
presented  by  others.  Being  actors  as  well  as  writers,  they 
knew  wherein  weak  situations  might  be  bettered.  So  that 
Mackaye's  list  of  plays,  while  pointing  to  technical  activity, 
does  not  impress  one  with  any  striking  originality.  Here 
again  we  find  the  man  meeting  with  success,  yet  not  suffi 
ciently  concentrated  to  be  more  than  of  temporary  influence. 
As  an  author,  he  is  to  be  credited  with  the  following: 

"Marriage"  (1872);  "Arkwright's  Wife"  (1873);  "Clan- 
carty"  (1874,  with  Taylor);  "Rose  Michel"  (1875,  collabo 
ration);  "Queen  and  Woman"  (1876,  adaptation  from 
Victor  Hugo,  with  G.  V.  Pritchard);  "Won  at  Last"  (1877); 
"Through  the  Dark"  (1878);  "An  Iron  Will"  (1879,  later 
"  Hazel  Kirke,"  1880) ;  "A  Fool's  Errand"  (1881,  adaptation) ; 


146  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

"Dakolar"  (1884);  "In  Spite  of  All"  (1885);  "Rienzi" 
(1886,  rewritten  for  Barrett);  "Anarchy"  (1887);  "A 
Noble  Rogue"  (1888;  also  "Money  Mad,"  modeled  on 
the  style  of  Hugo's  " Jean Val jean");  "Paul  Kauvar"  (known 
as  "Anarchy"). 

The  majority  of  these  plays  contained  melodrama  com 
mon  to  that  period.  It  was  a  period  when  the  physical 
outlines  of  the  theatre  were  materially  changing;  when  the 
old  gas-jets,  laboriously  turned  on  at  each  performance, 
were  now  on  the  eve  of  being  simultaneously  ignited  by  an 
electric  spark;  when  Ogden  Dorcmus  was  experimenting 
with  asbestos  curtains,  to  give  fireproof  protection  to  the 
theatre;  when  Mackaye  himself  was  designing  orchestra 
chairs.  It  was  the  later  day  of  the  Boucicault  drama,  which 
had  made  demands  upon  the  scenic  pictures,  introducing 
physical  details  that  were  regarded  as  marvelous.  It  was 
the  time  of  Kate  Claxton,  Ida  Vernon,  Clara  Morris,  Mon 
tague,  Gilbert,  Holland,  and  Ponisi. 

Mackaye  fell  readily  into  the  atmosphere;  he  imbibed 
much  of  the  Boucicault  technique,  without  its  flexibility, 
without  its  humor,  without  its  easy  grace  and  cheerfulness. 
And  yet  he  was  not  considered  a  conservative;  on  the  con 
trary,  the  papers  regarded  him  very  much  as  a  defier  of 
tradition,  especially  in  comparison  with  Wallack  and  Daly. 
He  was  only  rash,  however,  in  the  outward  scope  of  the 
theatre;  for  his  plays  are  constructed  along  conventional 
lines,  with  an  emotionalism  either  akin  to  Boucicault  or 
to  Dumas'  "Camille." 

The  five  acts  of  "Won  at  Last"  are  epitomized  graphically 
in  the  program  as:  "Act  I,  Ashes;  Act  II,  Embers;  Act 
III,  Fire;  Act  IV,  Flame;  Act  V,  Fireside."  "  Hazel  Kirke," 
which  was  first  presented  in  1879  under  the  title  of  "The 
Iron  Will,"  bears  all  the  characteristics  of  the  romantic  and 
melodramatic  school  of  Boucicault.  Indeed,  critics  never 


PERCY   MACKAYE    AND    HIS    FATHER    147 

let  Mackaye  alone  about  the  reminiscent  touches  to  be  found 
in  his  dramas.  Earnest  though  he  always  was,  and  however 
high  his  ideals,  he  could  not  escape  the  sensationalism  of 
Tennyson's  and  Charles  Reade's  "Dora";  of  "Amy  Rob- 
sart,"  and  of  "  Rose  Michel/'  which  he  helped  to  adapt. 

Mackaye  and  De  Mille  were  a  great  part  of  the  force  of 
the  little  Madison  Square  Theatre  —  a  theatre  whose  greatest 
thorns  seem  to  have  been  the  Rev.  Dr.  G.  S.  Mallory  and 
Marshall  Mallory.  They  were  astute  business  men,  and 
understood  how  to  obtain  the  best  of  any  bargain.  When 
Mackaye  went  to  them,  the  understanding  was  that  he  was 
to  relinquish  all  patents  and  copyrights  for  the  period  of 
ten  years,  and  that  he  was  to  have  five  thousand  dollars 
and  profits  under  certain  conditions.  But  the  contract  was 
not  definite  enough;  on  either  side  it  might  be  disturbed  at 
will.  "Hazel  Kirke"  ran  for  nearly  five  hundred  nights, 
with  Mackaye  every  now  and  then  assuming  the  role  of 
Dunstan,  but  whenever  the  Mallorys  had  the  suspicion  that 
they  were  losing  money,  it  was  a  signal  for  them  to  try  to 
revoke  their  contracts.  In  fact,  the  theatre  of  that  day  was 
not  so  good  as  the  theatre  of  the  present.  Boucicault  was 
continually  involved  in  litigation,  and  all  dramatists  had 
their  successes  pirated  on  every  occasion.  In  1881,  accord 
ing  to  one  authority,  four  companies  were  enjoined  for 
playing  distorted  versions  of  "Hazel  Kirke." 

However  much  Mackaye  may  have  had  the  correct  idea 
regarding  the  close  treatment  of  drama,  it  was  only  in  the 
expansiveness  of  outward  detail  that  he  dared  depart  from 
the  conventional  structure.  No  man  realized  more  philo 
sophically  than  he  that  a  good  play  must  contain  some  deep 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  some  wide  experience  of  life, 
and  some  surety  in  dealing  with  the  craft  of  the  stage.  And 
he  drew  from  himself  and  his  own  ambition,  when  he  stated 
the  requisites  of  a  dramatist  to  be: 


148  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

"  Mechanical  instinct,  poetic  fancy,  sensitive  sympathies, 
passionate  fervor  and  vivid  imagination,  thoroughness  in 
preparation,  industry  in  elaboration,  conscience  in  revision, 
courage  in  excision,  and  dominating  all  this,  that  breadth 
of  mind  which  breeds  humility,  and  that  depth  of  heart 
whose  understanding  love  goes  out  in  charity  to  all  mankind." 

But  though  he  would  have  had  the  process  so,  plays  of 
the  Daly  period  were  not  evolved;  they  were  not  intensive. 
Realism  was  just  beginning  to  modify  the  romantic  glow  of 
"The  Two  Orphans"  and  "The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  while  it 
could  hardly  be  claimed  that  violent  action  had  been  suc 
ceeded  by  rational  themes.  What  Mackaye  called  "the 
focal  purpose"  of  a  play  had  not  departed  from  French  models 
or  from  French  emotionalism.  Howard,  Belasco,  De  Mille, 
and  Mackaye  all  came  under  its  spell,  the  latter  speculating 
upon  a  way  of  escape.  "The  master  playwright,"  so  he 
said,  "combines  the  constructive  faculty  of  the  mechanic, 
and  the  analytical  mind  of  a  philosopher,  with  the  aesthetic 
instinct  of  a  poet,  and  the  ethical  ardor  of  an  apostle." 

There  is  no  doubting  the  truth  that  Mackaye  was  serious- 
minded;  in  fact,  he  was  continually  active,  a  peculiar  com 
bination  of  a  Swedenborgian,  a  theatrical  Edison,  and  an 
undisciplined  reader  of  Tyndall,  Huxley,  and  Spencer.  His 
interests  lay  between  religion  and  civil  engineering;  he  was 
diversely  equipped,  and  a  specialist  only  in  what  actual 
experience  had  taught  him.  But  he  never  heeded  experience 
for  long,  preferring  to  follow  his  imagination  and  his  invent 
iveness.  Like  all  dramatists,  he  was  alive  to  the  moment, 
and  when,  in  1887,  his  "Paul  Kauvar"  was  presented,  con 
taining  all  the  earmarks  of  its  kind  in  flimsy  sentiment, 
verboseness,  and  theatrical  effect,  he  nevertheless  claimed  him 
self  to  be  deeply  concerned  in  the  problem  of  "anarchy," 
under  which  name  the  play  was  first  known. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  papers  called  "Paul 


PERCY   MACKAYE    AND    HIS    FATHER    149 

Kauvar"  "tumultuous  and  declamatory,"  and  critics  saw 
in  it  imitations  of  Bulwer,  the  play  attracted  wide  attention, 
since  there  was  beneath  it  a  slight  tinge  of  contemporaneous 
ness,  despite  its  Red  Terror  atmosphere.  For  Mackaye, 
being  convinced  that  demagogues  were  spreading  a  spirit  of 
anarchy  among  the  masses,  determined  to  show  wherein 
tyranny  was  unjust,  in  the  hopes  of  counteracting  a  revo 
lutionary  spirit  which  he  felt  existed  among  the  people.  To 
do  this,  he  demanded  a  large  spectacle,  which  drew  from  Nym 
Crinkle  the  remarks:  "Mr.  Steele  Mackaye,  whatever  else 
he  may  be,  is  not  a  'lisping  hawthorn  bud.'  He  doesn't 
embroider  such  napkins  as  the  'Abbe  Constantin,'  and  he 
can't  arrange  such  waxworks  as  '  Elaine.'  He  can't  stereo 
scope  an  emotion,  but  he  can  incarnate  it  if  you  give  him 
people  enough." 

The  play  was  doubtless  the  outcome  of  certain  ideas  which 
were  in  the  air.  It  was  the  old  cry  which  was  raised  in  re 
gard  to  the  influx  of  emigrants  whose  excessive  poverty, 
together  with  the  yoke  of  political  oppression,  drove  them 
to  the  new  country.  But  with  them  Mackaye  felt  that 
they  brought  certain  foreign  ideas  which  were  inimical  to  the 
welfare  of  the  American  laborer.  So  it  was  that  "Anarchy," 
besides  being  a  melodramatic  spectacular,  was  also  a  pur 
pose  play  in  the  newspaper  sense.  In  1888,  he  wrote: 

"  In  the  struggle  between  capital  and  labor  in  this  country, 
the  grasping  spirit  of  corporations  and  the  demoralizing 
influence  of  political  corruption  are  constantly  affording 
the  demagogue  or  the  dreamer,  who  has  nothing  to  lose  and 
everything  to  gain  by  the  destruction  of  civil  order,  an  op 
portunity  to  preach  anarchic  doctrines  with  great  plausibility. 
When  I  first  discovered  the  large  extent  to  which  the  pas 
sions  of  the  working  classes  were  being  played  upon  by  the 
fine  phrases  of  these  insidious  foes  of  the  American  Republic, 
I  determined  to  investigate,  as  carefully  as  circumstances 


150  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

would  permit,  the  means  by  which  these  foreign  influences 
were  seeking  to  achieve  their  diabolic  results  in  this  country." 

After  his  dispute  with  the  Mallorys,  Mr.  Mackaye  went 
over  to  the  Lyceum  Theatre,  on  Fourth  Avenue,  which 
playhouse  soon  began  to  gain  prestige  under  Daniel 
Frohman,  and  where  E.  H.  Sothern  was  on  the  eve  of 
large  recognition.  Mackaye's  enthusiasm,  his  charm  of 
manner  and  his  grace,  made  him  well  liked,  and  he  was 
much  more  at  ease  in  private  talk  than  in  acting.  He 
was  a  charming  conversationalist,  and  possessed  what 
critics  called  a  mind  "  ratiocinative,  not  poetic."  Inter 
ested  in  painting,  sculpture,  teaching,  managing,  playwrit- 
ing  and  inventing,  he  lacked  system;  he  was  devoid  of 
concentration.  Philosophically,  he  was  under  the  influence 
of  the  transcendentalists,  and  even  the  mystic  touches 
in  Delsarte  bore  evidences  of  Catholic  symbolism.  His 
language,  outside  his  plays,  was  marked  by  metaphysical 
distinctions,  seen,  for  instance,  in  an  excellent  letter  sent  to 
his  son  from  Chicago,  on  December  15,  1893,  in  answer  to 
Percy's  objections  to  changes  made  in  some  chorals  he  had 
written.  The  statements  show  first  of  all  a  serious  attitude 
toward  all  creative  work,  as  well  as  a  modesty  which  was  no 
small  part  of  his  charm;  they  are  likewise  evidences  of  a 
speculative  mind  which  delighted  in  analyzing  the  absolute, 
the  relative,  and  the  conscious  in  terms  of  art.  This 
is  what  he  wished  to  do  in  his  big  Columbian  spectacle 
prepared  for  his  Spectatorium ;  every  detail  of  it  was  to  have 
philosophical  value;  even  the  choruses  were  to  be  represen 
tative  of  fine  distinctions. 

He  felt  that  Percy,  at  an  early  age,  should  have  grasped 
this  in  the  writing  of  the  poetic  tasks  set  before  him. 

"Everything  in  the  Cosmic  order,"  he  said,  "is  perfect 
or  complete.  When  I  speak  of  the  Time  Chorus,  I  mean 
that  which  voices  the  accomplishment  of  the  past.  .  .  .  The 


PERCY   MACKAYE    AND    HIS    FATHER    151 

Past  Time  Chorus,  philosophically,  represents  the  real  world, 
and  the  Future  Time  Chorus  represents  the  ideal  world, 
while  the  Eternity  Chorus  represents  the  essential  world  — 
the  world  of  principle  or  spirit.  .  .  .  The  spirit  of  the  whole 
is  the  perfect  spirit  —  universal  spirit  —  the  divine  spirit. 
The  spirit  of  the  past  is  the  imperfect  spirit  and  the  de 
moniac  spirit." 

His  distinctions  of  mortal  and  immortal  consciousness 
clearly  mark  his  scattered  reading  in  metaphysical  fields. 

We  now  reach  the  culmination  of  Mr.  Mackaye's  life,  at 
the  time  of  the  Chicago  Exposition  of  1893.  All  his  theatri 
cal  extravagance  overflowed  and  ran  riot  in  the  Columbian 
Celebration  Company,  organized  to  exploit  his  Spectatorium, 
a  building  devised  for  his  entertainment,  which  was  called 
"  Spectatorus."  This  was  a  combination  of  grand  scenic  dis 
play  with  Oratorio,  in  which  stage  realism  was  to  be  carried 
to  its  highest  perfection.  It  was  to  be  a  Hippodrome  in 
size,  with  appliances  of  every  conceivable  power,  so  arranged 
as  to  create  illusions  of  the  noblest  order.  The  stage,  called 
a  "  Scenitorium",  was  to  contain  an  immense  reservoir  for 
water  effects,  and  around  this  were  to  be  grouped  Mac 
kaye's  remarkable  inventions. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  go  into  details  regarding  this  mam 
moth  shell.  In  it  were  to  be  erected  automatic  combination 
stages,  allowing  of  any  variety  of  motions;  wave-current 
makers,  for  the  creation  of  currents  of  water  which  were  to 
be  regulated  as  to  velocity  and  height;  wind-current  makers, 
so  conceived  as  to  create  cyclone  velocity  from  the  gentlest 
breeze;  weather-makers,  for  atmospheric  effects,  such  as 
large  rainbows;  illuminoscopes,  "by  means  of  which  the 
scope  and  character  of  the  illumination  of  the  scene  can  be 
instantly  determined;"  colorators,  for  tints  according  to 
the  changing  hours;  nebulators,  for  cloud  effects;  and  a 
luxauleator,  which  was  to  be  a  dazzling  sheet  of  light  to  take 


152  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

the  place  of  a  curtain.  Examining  the  large  scope  of  Mack- 
aye's  idea,  it  is  surprising  how  near  he  came  to  the  concep 
tion  of  a  Hippodrome.  He  aimed  at  mechanical  duplication 
of  Nature;  mechanical  acceleration  of  mystery.  The  pro 
duction  in  such  a  huge  machinery  was  to  be  called  a  "Spec- 
tatorio,"  which  was  "a  species  of  performance  celebrating  a 
theme  which  may  be  either  historic,  fabulous,  or  fanciful.  It 
illustrates  its  subjects  by  great  pictures  —  whose  stories 
are  told  in  pantomime,  and  whose  sentimental,  ethical,  or 
ideal  meaning  is  celebrated  or  interpreted  by  music."  On 
one  hand  he  had  in  mind  the  most  extravagant  display  of 
Barnum;  on  the  other  he  accepted  as  a  model  Cody's  Wild 
West  Show.  Undoubtedly  the  educational  vastness  of  such 
an  enterprise  met  with  some  enthusiasm  and  support;  prep 
arations  actually  began  for  the  mounting  of  "The  Great 
Discovery/'  which  was  to  epitomize  the  life  of  Columbus. 
The  financial  figures  of  returns  were  chimerical,  with 
the  seating  capacity  of  over  ten  thousand  people,  and  the 
other  sources  of  income  to  cover  the  initial  expenditure  of 
nearly  a  million  dollars.  The  structure  was  to  have  occu 
pied  the  northeastern  corner  of  Jackson  Park. 

Any  one  in  the  theatre  will  understand  that  the  very 
magnitude  of  the  undertaking  was  enough  to  handicap 
business  and  to  kill  the  man  in  control.  Mackaye's  whole 
nervous  system  went  to  pieces  as  he  saw  the  money  slipping 
from  his  hands.  The  Spectatorium  was  only  a  skeleton 
when  the  company  went  into  the  hands  of  a  receiver  because 
of  depression  in  Wall  Street.  His  brain  teeming  with  projects, 
Mackaye  was  able,  through  a  natural  gift  of  persuasiveness, 
to  carry  any  amount  of  enthusiasm.  But  now  he  was  com 
pletely  broken  in  health.  He  was  given  a  benefit  which  en 
abled  him  to  start  on  a  trip  to  California,  but  on  his  way, 
while  passing  through  Timpas,  Colorado,  he  died  aboard 
the  train,  on  February  25,  1894. 


PERCY   MACKAYE    AND    HIS    FATHER    153 

In  this  career  we  find  many  evidences  of  the  son,  Percy, 
writer  of  dramas;  of  the  son,  James,  instructor  at  Harvard, 
and  author  of  a  philosophical,  sociological  discussion  of  "  The 
Economy  of  Happiness";  and  of  the  son  whose  interest  in 
nature  is  marked.1  The  speculative  tendency  is  in  the 
Mackaye  blood,  and  a  staid  seriousness.  Yet  Percy  has  a 
keen  sense  of  humor  which  he  realized  in  "Mater"  and  in 
"Anti-Matrimony,"  but  sedulously  governs  because  of  his 
Harvard  training.  Steele  Mackaye,  in  his  experiments, 
foreshadowed  the  present  possibilities  of  the  mechanical 
stage;  he  would  have  been  greater  had  he  possessed  re 
straint.  Curiously,  his  son,  Percy,  is  handicapped  by  this 
very  quality  of  restraint. 

1  There  was  also  a  son  whose  stage  career  was  cut  short.  A 
daughter,  Hazel,  has  been  on  the  stage.  Mrs.  Steele  Mackaye  is 
the  author  of  several  dramatizations  which  have  been  published. 

The  variety  of  Mr.  Mackaye's  work  since  1910  is  fairly  well 
represented  by  the  mention  of  the  following:  "To-morrow"  (1911); 
"Yankee  Fantasies"  (1912);  "The  Modern  Reader's  Chaucer" 
(1912);  "Sanctuary:  A  Bird  Masque"  (1914);  "A  Thousand  Years 
Ago"  (1914);  "St.  Louis:  A  Masque"  (1914);  "The  Immigrants" 
(1915);  "Caliban"  (1916);  "Sinbad"  (1917).  His  "Canterbury 
Pilgrims,"  set  to  music  by  Reginald  de  Koven,  was  produced  during 
the  season  of  1916-17  by  the  Metropolitan  Opera  Company.  His 
libretto,  "Sinbad,"  has  been  set  to  music  by  Frederic  S.  Converse, 
but  has  not  as  yet  been  produced.  He  is  also  the  author  of  a  volume 
entitled  "The  Civic  Theatre"  (1912). 

Mr.  Mackaye  has  also  written  a  series  of  two  articles  on  his  father, 
entitled  "Steele  Mackaye,  Dynamic  Artist  of  the  American  Thea 
tre,"  issued  in  The  Drama,  November,  1911,  pp.  138-161,  and  Feb 
ruary,  1912,  pp.  153-173.  As  yet  no  definitive  edition  of  Steele 
Mackaye's  plajrs  has  been  issued,  but  his  "Hazel  Kirke"  is  included 
in  A.  H.  Quinn's  "Representative  American  Plays,"  and  his  "Paul 
Kauvar"  in  M.  J.  Moses's  "Representative  Dramas  by  American 
Dramatists,"  Vol.  III. 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE  CARDBOARD   PLAY   AND   THE   WELL-MADE   PLAY: 
AUGUSTUS  THOMAS   AND   WILLIAM   GILLETTE 


THERE  is  no  strict  grievance  against  the  outward  excellence 
of  the  cardboard  play.  It  is  planned  according  to  the  latest 
devices,  and  its  structure  is  pleasing  to  the  eye.  Yet  it  is 
like  a  house  untenanted,  like  a  shell  without  the  kernel. 

It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  drama  be  externalized, 
that  its  scenes  be  proportioned  and  in  good  taste.  But  this 
does  not  mean  that  the  yard-stick  measurements  of  the 
average  manager  are  sufficient  to  guarantee  a  success  in 
his  theatre.  Every  play  is  subjected  to  the  same  processes 
of  preparation;  the  extravaganza  as  well  as  the  problem 
drama  has  its  scene  and  its  costume;  and  every  play,  what 
ever  its  scope  or  character,  has  to  be  rehearsed. 

In  mounting  a  comic  opera,  the  stage  manager  is  chiefly 
concerned  with  pleasing  the  eye;  the  attention  is  here 
carried  in  channels  of  least  mental  exertion.  In  the  final 
analysis  of  any  effect  created  in  this  manner,  audiences 
feel  that  they  have  been  cheated,  since  the  light  and  paint 
of  the  stage  are  only  accessories,  veritable  appetizers  for  the 
imagination,  and  do  not  take  the  place  of  nature.  The 
Rosalind  of  the  boards  lacks  the  fresh  youth  of  the  Rosalind 
of  the  greensward. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  mounting  a  straight  drama,  with 
any  serious  undercurrent  of  motive,  it  is  incumbent  upon 


THOMAS  AND  GILLETTE  155 

the  stage  manager  to  be  particular  about  harmonizing  scene 
with  idea.  He  leaves  this  to  his  working  staff,  more  than 
likely,  thoroughly  content  if,  during  rehearsal,  he  detects  any 
variety  of  design,  any  new  effect  of  novel  action.  A  theatre 
man  once  said  to  me,  not  realizing  the  poignant  truth  of 
his  statement:  "  I  hear  with  my  eyes,  and  see  with  my  ears." 

It  is  not  an  easy  matter  to  balance  consistency  with  action, 
and  it  is  well-nigh  impossible  for  the  dramatist,  if  he  be 
lacking  in  psychological  situation,  to  insert  it  after  his  play 
is  written;  he  is  continually  forced  to  recast  his  dialogue  so 
as  to  make  possible  certain  motives  and  certain  actions. 

From  the  moment  a  dramatic  author  conceives  his  plot, 
to  the  first  night,  he  travels  the  long  road  of  preparation; 
considering  how  long,  it  is  a  wonder  that  more  plays  are  not 
silently  withdrawn  before  they  are  publicly  condemned. 
But  the  theatrical  manager  finds  himself  economically  in 
the  position  of  a  landlord  whose  houses  have  to  be  "filled,  and 
the  danger  of  the  situation  lies  in  the  fact  that  he  has  more 
comfortable  theatres  than  he  has  deserving  dramas.  That 
is  why  he  leans  so  heavily  upon  the  cardboard  play.  If  it 
is  weak  on  the  first  night,  it  may  be  bolstered  up  the  next 
morning.  The  manager  and  author  have  had  time  to  watch 
the  effect  of  scenes  and  of  bits  of  dialogue  upon  the  people. 
The  "prompt  copy"  of  every  play  contains  marks  indicating 
where  those  "in  front"  laughed,  where  they  cried,  where 
they  were  confused.  And  then  the  play  is  touched  up,  cut 
here,  or  shifted  and  heightened  there.  I  remember  hearing 
Augustus  Thomas,  during  the  second  night  of  "  Mrs.  Leffing- 
welPs  Boots,"  make  plans  to  change  certain  spots  that  did 
not  seem  quite  "to  get  over  the  foots." 

The  true  dramatic  author  is  always  thoroughly  alive  to 
the  surroundings  of  his  play,  to  the  precise  atmosphere  of 
his  scene.  While  he  leaves  it  to  the  art  of  the  stage  carpenter 
and  of  the  scene  painter  to  perfect  his  mental  picture  in 


156  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

projection,  nevertheless,  in  the  writing  of  his  play  the 
dramatist  allows  atmosphere  to  affect  his  dialogue  as  well 
as  his  action. 

Not  only  details  of  furniture,  of  dress,  of  architecture, 
decorate  the  moment  in  the  story,  but  each  object  of  external 
position  measures  the  temperament  and  the  personality 
of  the  character,  or  group  of  characters,  approaching  the 
climax  of  the  particular  incident  in  life  called  a  drama. 

Clyde  Fitch  read  me  the  script  of  "The  City,"  and 
in  describing  to  me  the  locale,  he  indicated  how  the  trees 
were  placed  on  the  lawn  of  the  country  house;  he  saw  plainly 
the  living-room  in  which  the  tragedy  of  the  first  act  was  to 
take  place.  The  ground-plan  of  the  entire  play  was  as  real 
as  though  he  had  himself  lived  with  his  people.  To  him 
the  essential  fact  was  that  his  family,  which  he  had  chosen 
for  "The  City,"  could  not  possibly  live  in  any  other  kind 
of  house.  He  had  his  scene  built,  he  selected  his  furniture, 
he  clothed  his  actors,  to  satisfy  his  sense  of  environment. 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  the  first  two  things  to  be 
done,  after  a  play  is  chosen  for  production,  are  to  have  the 
stage  director  make  sketches  of  the  scene,  while  the  dram 
atist  —  if  he  be  well  known  —  or  the  stage  manager,  begins 
to  "cast"  the  characters.  Mr.  Fitch  .always  personally 
superintended  these  details.  Compare  a  preparatory  sketch 
of  scenes  for  "The  Music  Master"  with  the  scene  finally 
adopted,  after  Mr.  Belasco's  practical  alterations.  That 
which  was  taken  from  the  original  sketch  had  to  be  dis 
carded  for  purposes  of  stagecraft.  Nothing  is  done  toward 
actually  building  the  scenery  for  a  play  until  the  sketches 
have  been  approved,  and  until  the  "model"  has  been  con 
structed.  Then  the  carpenter  and  painter  are  allowed  to 
begin  their  work. 

The  preliminary  drawings  made  for  a  production  include 
costume  sketches  of  varied  design  and  color.  Even  as  an 


THOMAS  AND  GILLETTE  157 

artist  or  a  sculptor  makes  diverse  outlines  of  arms,  and 
eyes,  and  noses,  so  the  costumer  prepares  "  boot  plots,"  "  fan 
plots,"  and  studies  out  carefully,  if  his  play  calls  for  archaic 
setting,  every  detail  relating  to  the  dress  of  his  period. 

From  an  orchestra  chair,  one  does  not  fully  realize  the 
amount  of  ingenuity  required  in  preparing  the  cardboard 
surroundings  for  an  historical,  a  fantastical,  or  a  romantic 
play.  Dances  peculiar  to  locality,  as  in  Mary  Austin's 
"The  Arrow  Maker,"  or  in  Richard  Walton  Tully's  "The 
Rose  of  the  Rancho,"  or  in  Victor  Herbert's  "Natoma," 
have  to  be  worked  out  by  diagram.  Colors  have  to  be  massed 
and  harmonized,  and  characters  have  to  be  kept  within  the 
tone  of  the  picture.  When  large  choruses  are  used,  the  care 
in  such  detail  must  be  constant.  The  Hippodrome  always 
makes  use  of  immense  ballets,  where,  if  one  but  half  close 
his  eyes,  blurring  the  individuals,  a  spectrum-scheme  of  the 
whole  is  observed.  Masses  of  color  are  circulated  in  well- 
conceived,  sinuous  design  —  geometry  turned  into  the  poetry 
of  motion. 

The  cardboard  aspects  of  a  play  are  in  the  hands  of  four 
men:  the  scene  painter,  the  stage  carpenter,  the  electrician 
and  the  property  man.  Each  at  first  does  his  work  sepa 
rately,  but  in  such  a  way  that  when  all  come  together,  their 
"effects"  dovetail.  The  mounting  of  a  play  is  much  like 
a  cut-up  puzzle;  there  is  a  very  definite  design  somewhere, 
which  the  stage  manager  has  in  mind.  Even  in  the  acting  of 
a  play,  rehearsals  are  conducted  in  fragments,  the  players  go 
ing  off  to  odd  corners  of  the  room  to  discuss  their  "  business," 
while  others  are  doing  a  scene  under  the  direct  supervision 
of  the  dramatist.  Mr.  Fitch  was  an  indefatigable  worker 
at  rehearsal;  Mr.  Thomas  possesses  the  happy  faculty  of 
keeping  the  actors  interested. 

The  play  is  practically  rehearsed  by  the  time  scenery 
and  costumes  are  ready;  the  actors  are  "letter  perfect,"  and 


158  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

are  fairly  familiar  with  the  "  properties  "  which  they  are 
going  to  use.  Up  to  this  time,  the  king  has  probably  sat 
upon  a  kitchen  chair  for  his  throne;  the  princess  has  dropped 
upon  the  bare  boards  of  the  dusty  stage  for  the  greensward; 
while  the  retainers  of  the  palace  have  had  a  veritable 
Belshazzar's  feast,  without  even  the  assistance  of  papier 
mache  venison.  I  attended  several  rehearsals  of  "  Pelleas  et 
Melisande,"  when  Oscar  Hammerstein  was  preparing 
Debussy's  opera.  In  the  balcony  scene,  Melisande,  dressed 
in  a  street  gown,  with  a  toque,  made  believe  she  was 
shaking  out  her  golden  locks;  while  up  an  ordinary  house 
ladder  climbed  the  love-consumed  Pelleas,  in  a  brown  frock 
coat  and  derby  hat!  It  is  at  such  moments  that  all  arguments 
as  to  the  need  of  scenery  and  costume  are  difficult  to  offset 
with  any  plea  for  not  needing  scenery  at  all.  It  has  its  legit 
imate  uses ;  its  undoing  is  bad  taste,  which  leads  to  repletion. 

The  theatre  people  do  not  proceed  blindly  in  their  building 
of  the  cardboard  play;  while  they  are  usually  lavish  in  their 
scenic  scope,  they  know  what  they  want  before  they  look 
for  it;  it  may  not  be  the  right  thing,  or  the  most  artistic 
thing,  but  it  suits  their  limited  purposes.  They  are  quicker 
to  discover  a  flaw  in  stage-setting  than  to  question  the  in 
tellectual  value  of  their  amusement;  hence,  their  visual 
power  far  exceeds  their  critical  judgment.  They  usually 
possess  a  "scenario"  knowledge  of  the  play,  which  they 
apply  to  their  "stage  model,"  in  which  draperies,  furniture, 
ornaments,  and  those  numberless  details  grouped  under 
the  name  of  "properties,"  are  accurately  placed.  One  can 
imagine  the  necessity  for  this  doll  house,  this  facsimile  of 
the  larger  thing,  this  miniature  theatre.  But  the  mental 
measurement  of  the  cardboard  play  goes  no  further,  as  far 
as  the  average  manager  is  concerned. 

The  perfection  to  which  the  cardboard  play  has  been 
brought  is  at  once  its  asset  and  its  weakness.  It  is  so  easy 


THOMAS  AND  GILLETTE  159 

to  interest  the  eye  with  devices,  that  the  manager  has  reached 
the  point  where  he  can  disguise  a  threadbare  plot  beneath 
mechanical  novelty.  No  criticism  can  be  brought  against 
the  manager  that  he  is  miserly  in  his  outlay  for  an  "attrac 
tion."  Fortunes  are  spent  every  year  in  the  cardboard 
houses,  which  amuse  the  eye  but  which  bring  no  profit  to 
the  mind  or  imagination.  To  judge  by  the  character  of 
plays  produced  in  a  season,  the  professional  "reader"  for 
a  theatre  watches  more  for  effect  than  for  content.  Depend 
ence  is  placed,  not  so  much  on  the  dramatist  as  on  the  theatre 
staff  of  trained  mechanics.  The  danger  to  the  American 
playwright,  which  lurks  in  this  dependence,  is  that  he  trans 
fers  his  psychological  values  from  character  to  scene. 

Undoubtedly  there  is  art  in  the  external  drama,  but  its 
perfection  is  the  danger  we  have  to  guard  against.  Com 
mercialization  will  exist  in  this  phase,  just  as  long  as  the 
period  of  preparation  is  spent  on  "effect."  For  on  the  first 
night,  with  the  scene  set,  the  lights  lit,  the  "properties" 
placed,  and  the  actors  at  work,  the  manager  is  often  forced 
to  realize  too  late  that  he  has  no  play. 

ii 

Clyde  Fitch  possessed  ingenuity;  so  does  Augustus 
Thomas.  Clyde  Fitch  depended  very  largely  on  external 
detail,  as  in  "Girls";  Augustus  Thomas  piled  up  eccentric 
marks  to  such  an  extent  in  "The  Other  Girl"  that  persons 
who  did  not  know  Broadway  could  not  understand  it.  In 
"The  City,"  Mr.  Fitch  proved,  just  before  his  death,  that  he 
could  handle  a  powerful  theme,  however  disagreeable;  in 
"The  Witching  Hour"  and  subsequent  dramas,  Mr.  Thomas 
I  clearly  shows  that  the  cardboard  play  is  no  longer  sufficient 
to  carry  his  new  interests. 

Mr.    Thomas'    early    pieces,    "Alabama"    (1891),    "In 


160  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

'Mizzoura'"  (1893),  and  "Arizona"  (1900)  dealt  with  a  life 
which  stirred  with  something  more  than  smart-set  witticism 
and  city  environment.  Then  followed  a  period  when  French 
technique  gripped  him,  and  he  has  never  escaped  his  in 
debtedness  to  the  foreign  facility  for  making  conversation. 
His  broad  comedy  period  encouraged  him  to  draw  upon  his 
newspaper  observation,  and  to  produce  plays  deliciously  clever 
but  effervescent. 

;  Most  of  his  plots  were  fragile,  slender  threads  of  experience 
|  to  carry  his  fine  sense  of  humor.  "  Mrs.  LeffingwelFs  Boots  " 
(1905)  is  an  apt  example  of  this.  On  the  other  hand,  "The 
Earl  of  Pawtucket"  (1903),  a  Dundreary  and  Chumley 
imitation,  and  "On  the  Quiet"  (1901)  proved  to  be  farces 
of  excellent  pattern.  Meeting  success  with  the  former, 
through  the  acting  success  of  Lawrence  D'Orsay,  Thomas 
produced  another  play,  "The  Embassy  Ball"  (1905),  scin 
tillating  but  flimsy,  a  species  of  wit  which  in  no  way 
touched  the  heart,  and  unhappily  distorted  American 
types. 

Mr.  Thomas  has  technique  at  his  finger's  end ;  he  is  a  man 
of  the  world,  with  a  reporter's  instinct  for  timely  interests. 
•  As  all  dramatists  should  be,  he  is  thoroughly  familiar  with 
I  American  life,  and  since  his  broad  comedy  period,  his  obser 
vation  and  his  thought  have  deepened.  Born  in  St.  Louis, 
Mo.,  on  January  8,  1859,1  he  was  public-school  bred;  became 
page-boy  in  Washington  during  the  Forty-first  Congress; 
studied  law;  became  a  writer  and  illustrator  for  such  papers 
as  the  St.  Louis  Post-Dispatch,  the  St.  Louis  Republic,  the 
Kansas  City  Times,  the  Kansas  City  Mirror  (1886),  the 
Northwestern  Miller,  and  the  New  York  World.  Six  years 
were  passed  in  the  freight  department  of  a  railroad,  and  with 

1  See  Dithmar,  "Augustus  Thomas,"  Bookbuyer,  May,  1898, 
16:323;  "  Hoosier  Doctor,"  Critic,  N.  s.,  27:286;  "  The  Meddler," 
Critic,  N.  s.,  30:297. 


Photo,  by  Schloss 


AUGUSTUS  THOMAS 


THOMAS  AND  GILLETTE  161 

his  knowledge  of  law  he  made  ready  to  enter  politics.  His 
interest  in  the  latter  is  constantly  manifest. 

His  debut  as  dramatist  was  made  when,  in  1887,  he  dram 
atized  Mrs.  F.  H.  Burnett's  "Editha's  Burglar"  and  also 
acted  in  it.  Before  this,  as  early  as  sixteen,  he  wrote  plays 
like  "Alone"  and  "A  Big  Rise,"  for  amateurs.1 

Mr.  Thomas  is  the  author  of  three  plays  that,  while  they 
show  the  technique  for  which  he  is  justly  noted,  likewise 
sound  an  interest  in  telepathy.  These  are  "The  Witching 
Hour"  (1908),  a  manuscript  which  he  had  held  for  ten  years, 
until  the  time  was  opportune;  "The  Harvest  Moon"  (1909), 
and  "As  a  Man  Thinks"  (1911).  In  "The  Witching 
Hour  "  a  psychology  of  suggestion,  of  intimidation,  is  devel 
oped  with  more  consistency  and  with  equally  as  much  dra 
matic  effectiveness  as  in  Charles  Klein's  "The  Third  Degree." 
"The  Harvest  Moon,"  while  not  as  interesting  a  plot,  serves 
further  to  convince  one  of  the  belief  in  Thomas's  sincere 
interest  in  subconscious  effect.  His  science  is  rudimentary; 
his  exposition  such  as  a  man  who  had  seen  these  phenomena 
would  describe  them.  But  none  the  less  are  they  interesting, 
and  dramatically  effective.  Some  may  say  that  Mr.  Thomas's 

1  A  full  list  of  Mr.  Thomas's  plays  would  include  "A  Man  of 
the  World"  (1889);  "Reckless  Temple"  (1890);  "Afterthoughts" 
(1890);  dramatization  of  F.  Hopkinson  Smith's  "Colonel  Carter 
of  Cartersville"  (1892);  "The  Capitol"  (1894);  "New  Blood" 
(1894);  "The  Man  Upstairs"  (1895);  "The  Overcoat"  (1898); 
"The  Hoosier  Doctor"  (1898);  "The  Meddler"  (1898);  "Oliver 
Goldsmith"  (1900);  "Colorado"  (1901);  "Soldiers  of  Fortune" 
(1902);  "The  Education  of  Mr.  Pipp"  (1903),  based  on  Gibson's 
pictures;  and  "De  Lancey"  (1905).  On  a  souvenir  program  for  a 
special  performance  of  "The  Harvest  Moon,"  given  on  Oct.  28, 
1909,  for  the  Ancient  Accepted  Scottish  Rite,  of  which  Mr.  Thomas 
is  a  member,  I  note  these  additional  plays:  "The  Burglar,"  "A 
Night's  Frolic,"  "A  New  Year's  Call,"  "Surrender,"  "For  Money," 
"A  Proper  Impropriety,"  "The  Music  Box,"  "Chimmie  Fadden," 
"The  Jucklins,"  "That  Overcoat,"  "The  Ranger."  I  have  soen 
casual  reference  to  "In  Illinoy"  and  "Don't  Tell  Her  Husband." 


162  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

attitude  toward  the  theatre  is  unscholastic;  but  if  we  stop 
to  think,  the  theatre  is  never  scholastic;  it  rises  upon  the 
popular  interests  of  the  people.  It  is  not  necessary  for  a 
drama  success  to  be  literature.  I  remember  Mr.  Thomas 
summing  up  a  few  of  his  plays  in  this  fashion: 

"'  Alabama/  if  it  were  produced  now,  would  have  no 
special  audience  or  following.  It  came  at  a  time,  however, 
when  the  country  was  tired  of  sectional  strife,  and  when  it 
believed  there  should  be  a  reconciliation.  Colonel  Henry 
Watterson  said,  in  two  public  speeches,  and  also  editorially, 
that  up  to  the  time  of  the  production  of  '  Alabama/  he  had 
had  no  assistance  of  any  kind  to  bring  about  this  reconcil 
iation  between  the  sections,  and  that  'Alabama'  did  more 
in  one  night  than  he  had  been  able  to  do  in  ten  years. 

"'Arizona',"  he  continued,  "was  played  just  at  the  time 
of  the  Spanish  War,  and  had  to  do  with  the  raising  of  a 
volunteer  regiment  —  young  men  going  to  the  front. 

"'The  Other  Girl'  was  popular  when  the  prize  fighter 
was  an  idol  in  New  York,  just  after  the  repeal  of  the  Horton 
Law.  *  The  Witching  Hour  '  is  a  seizure  of  the  general  atten 
tion  that  is  given  to  telepathy  and  allied  topics.  And  under 
all  that,  lies  my  own  theory,  expressed  on  more  than  one 
occasion,  that  the  theatre  is  a  place  for  the  visualizing  of 
ideas  —  that  the  theatre  is  vital  only  when  it  is  visualizing 
some  idea  then  and  at  the  time  in  the  public  mind.  The 
theatre  is  a  vital  part  of  everyday  life;  it  is  an  institution, 
and  as  an  institution  it  has  a  claim  upon  the  popular  at 
tention  principally  in  that  fact.  When  it  becomes  a  thing 
preservative,  a  museum  for  certain  literary  forms,  or  a 
laboratory  for  galvanizing  archaic  ideas,  it  is  almost  use 
less,  and  seldom  successful  as  a  business  enterprise." 

In  "  As  a  Man  Thinks,"  Mr.  Thomas's  vision  is  no  longer 
fragmentary.  Once  he  used  to  read  his  papers  too  assidu 
ously,  but  now  he  has  added  to  this  a  wider  culture  and  a 


THOMAS  AND  GILLETTE  163 

deeper  understanding.  The  organic  unity  is  purely  intel 
lectual,  yet  his  dialogue  is  so  excellently  constructed  that 
one  does  not  realize  how  many  problems  he  drops  at  will, 
attacking  the  next  with  equal  vigor  and  freshness.  The 
interesting  point  to  note  about  Mr.  Thomas's  telepathic 
dramas  is  that  he  not  alone  states  a  problem;  in  addition, 
he  assumes  an  attitude.  This  is  why  "  As  a  Man  Thinks  " 
is  invigorating. 

Where  Mr.  Thomas  has  grown  is  in  the  manifold  variety 
of  his  statements;  in  the  digested,  rather  than  in  the  re 
flected,  opinions  he  expresses.  "As  a  Man  Thinks"  should 
easily  win  its  way  on  the  Continent;  by  its  French  technique 
it  should  be  an  example  to  Henri  Bernstein.  But  notwith 
standing,  it  has,  in  its  last  act  —  which  is  a  play  in  itself  — 
what  the  American  people  epitomize  as  "uplift."  The  title 
of  this  play  is  simply  a  variation  of  the  biblical  phrasing, 
"As  ye  sow,  so  shall  ye  reap."  The  play  itself  has  no  single 
purpose,  but  on  the  other  hand  it  has  no  indefinite  suggest- 
iveness. 

Never  has  Mr.  Thomas  dipped  his  ladle  into  the  crucible 
of  life  with  more  effect;  never  has  he  had  surer  grip  of  the 
handle.  As  a  man  thinks,  so  are  his  plays.  There  is  every 
evidence  in  this  latest  one  (1911)  that  Mr.  Thomas  is  think 
ing.  And  because  of  that,  he  has  ceased  placing  so  much 
dependence  upon  the  cardboard  house.  His  dramas  are 
always  well  mounted;  they  always  contain  atmosphere  in 
their  scenes;  they  are  always  well  dressed  and  well  acted. 
But  there  is  something  beyond  the  witticism  of  lines  in 
Thomas  of  the  present  period.  He  has  the  same  brilliancy, 
but  he  also  possesses  dignity  and  seriousness.  His  next 
play  may  contain  authority.  That  is  the  direction  of  his 
growth. 


164  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 


III 

William  Gillette  is  another  American  dramatist  who  is 
master  of  the  well-made  play  —  a  species  that  involves 
the  cardboard  characteristics  used  with  reticence.  He  was 
born  in  Hartford,  Conn.,  on  July  24,  1855,1  his  family  lineage 
comprising  many  noted  names.  His  father  was  at  one  time 
United  States  Senator  and  a  man  of  keen  intellect;  amon.o; 
his  relatives  he  counts  Henry  Ward  Beecher  and  Charles 
Dudley  Warner.  Young  Gillette's  education  was  carefully 
conducted.  It  seems  that  as  far  back  as  nursery  days,  the 
boy  owned  his  miniature  theatre,  and  was  quick  in  his  me 
chanical  inventions.  Thus  equipped,  Gillette,  as  early  as 
1877,  had  received  a  certain  amount  of  theatrical  training. 

It  is  the  primary  object  of  every  dramatist  to  amuse  an 
audience.  It  is  the  primary  object  of  every  audience  to  seek 
amusement.  But  there  are  standards  of  pleasure  as  there 
are  standards  of  morality,  and  we  have  to  question  our  right 
to  enjoy,  as  we  question  our  right  to  live.  Amusement 
varies  with  the  type  of  play,  and  this  type  varies  with  the 
grade  of  playhouse. 

Now,  it  is  the  primary  object  of  William  Gillette  to  amuse, 
and  every  audience  that  he  draws  is  given  healthy  amuse 
ment.  His  standard  of  pleasure  is  simple:  to  hold  the 
attention  by  appealing  to  a  childlike  thirst  in  all  of  us  for 
a  story  and  for  excitement.  His  types  of  play  are  so  varied 
that  we  find  different  pleasure  in  "The  Private  Secretary" 
from  that  in  "Secret  Service."  Only  once  did  Mr.  Gillette 
approach  a  problem;  that  was  in  "The  Admirable  Crichton" 
which  J.  M.  Barrie  wrote.  As  a  dramatist  himself,  Mr. 

1  The  Green  Room  Book  states  1856.  He  was  educated  at  Yale 
and  Harvard,  and  the  Massachusetts  Fine  Arts  Institute.  PIo  made 
his  first  appearance  as  an  actor  in  1875.  In  1881,  he  wrote  "The 
Professor." 


THOMAS  AND  GILLETTE  165 

Gillette  has  never  had  any  other  purpose  than  to  amuse;  and  he 
has  reached  his  effects  through  farce  and  melodrama.  These 
two  elements  have  been  raised  to  the  highest  grade  through 
superlative  workmanship;  they  have  been  found  appropriate 
for  the  best  audiences  because  of  the  stage  management 
and  the  peculiarly  individualistic  acting  of  Mr.  Gillette. 
"Sherlock  Holmes"  (1899)  is  example  of  a  rousing  melo 
drama,  constructed  in  harmony  with  his  method  of  acting. 

Joseph  Jefferson  once  said  that  he  had  no  set  ambition 
to  uplift  the  stage,  and  in  consequence  his  memory  is  sweet 
rather  than  invigorating.  William  Gillette  has  claimed 
that  he  cares  nothing  for  critical  theories;  that  when  he 
has  reached  the  heart  of  the  masses,  he  knows  he  is  right. 
He  does  not  seek  to  prove  any  problem.  But  as  a  dramatist, 
he  has  been  able  to  demonstrate  that  neither  farce  nor 
melodrama  needs  to  sacrifice  the  essential  qualities  of 
humanity. 

In  "  The  Private  Secretary  "  there  is  a  lovable  atmosphere 
surrounding  the  diffident  minister,  no  matter  how  ridicu 
lous  the  positions  in  which  he  is  placed.  Throughout  "  Sher 
lock  Holmes,"  the  great  detective  and  Dr.  Watson  are 
forceful  characters,  apart  from  the  situations  of  force  through 
which  they  make  their  appeal.  There  is  no  doubt  in  my 
mind  as  to  how  much  of  this  is  due  to  William  Gillette, 
the  actor.  These  roles,  which  have  made  his  stage  career, 
have  themselves  been  made  by  his  method  of  acting  —  tense, 
mostly  silent,  persistently  dominant,  and,  as  Norman  Hap- 
good  once  wrote,  deeply  theatrical  and  stealthy.  Upon 
the  stage  he  is  quiet,  slow,  dignified;  his  style  is  one  of 
nervous  repression,  of  dry  humor  that  is  incisive  and  subtle. 
Such  slowness,  in  the  midst  of  rapid  action,  of  tense  situ 
ation,  is  peculiar  to  this  actor  alone. 

Mr.  Gillette  has  written  many  plays  since  he  began  his 
career  as  dramatist  in  1881.  There  were  divers  failures 


166  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

between  successes;  his  last  indiscretion  —  "Electricity" 
(1910)  —  aiming  to  be  a  vehicle  for  so  slight  an  actress  as 
Marie  Doro,  was  totally  lacking  in  brilliancy  or  in  deftness 
of  workmanship;  it  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  card 
board  play  of  the  commercial  type. 

With  the  aid  of  Mrs.  F.  H.  Burnett,  beginning  as  Thomas 
began,  he  wrote  "  Esmeralda"  in  1881  ;l  he  adapted  "  Digby's 
Secretary"  from  the  German  (1884),  and  "She"  from  Rider 
Haggard's  novel  (1887).  From  the  French  and  German 
he  took  many  situations.  But  he  could  so  transmute  ideas 
as  to  make  "Because  She  Loved  Him  So"  (1899)  and  "Sher 
lock  Holmes"  essentially  his  own,  even  though  the  former 
was  taken  from  the  French,  and  the  latter  from  Sir  Conan 
Doyle's  stories.  Some  say  even  that "  The  Private  Secretary  " 
lurks  on  the  German  stage.  As  examples  of  his  own  origi 
nality,  therefore,  we  have  to  turn  to  "  Held  by  the  Enemy " 
(1886),  "Too  Much  Johnson"  (1894),  "Secret  Service" 
(1896),  and  "Clarice"  (1905). 

There  is  no  system  in  Gillette,  the  dramatist;  in  this  re 
spect  he  is  much  more  difficult  to  characterize  than  as  an 
actor.  For  if  we  say  that  his  dramas  represent  "well-made" 
plays,  we  attribute  to  them  an  artificiality  which  is  usually 
attributable  to  Scribe.  Were  I  to  measure  the  dramatist 
by  "  The  Private  Secretary,"  I  should  claim  that  while  it  was 
loosely  strung  and  faithfully  modelled  along  conventional  lines 
of  farce,  at  least  it  was  excellently  illustrative  of  the  genre. 
Were  I  to  measure  him  by  "  Held  by  the  Enemy,"  I  should 
call  it  typical  melodrama,  which  had  just  failed  in  its  aim  for 
consistency  and  truth,  even  though  it  foreshadowed  a  better 

1  Among  other  plays  by  Mr.  Gillette,  may  be  mentioned  "A 
Legal  Wreck"  (1888);  "All  the  Comforts  of  Home"  (1890,  from 
the  German);  "Mr.  Wilkinson's  Widows"  (1891);  "Settled  Out 
of  Court"  (1892,  from  the  French);  "Ninety  Days"  (1893).  He 
also  wrote  a  one-act  piece,  "The  Painful  Predicament  of  Sherlock 
Holmes"  (1905). 


Photo,  by  Frank  ll'anter 


WILLIAM  GILLETTE 


THOMAS  AND  GILLETTE  167 

drama  and  reflected  in  the  war  correspondent  something 
of  the  "Private  Secretary."  "Secret  Service"  has  all  the 
tone  and  color  of  Southern  feeling  during  the  Civil  War; 
atmospherically  it  holds  all  the  stress  and  strain.  South 
erners,  treasuring  memories  of  the  sectional  struggle,  have 
succumbed  to  its  appeal.  Mr.  Herne's  "Griffith  Davenport" 
alone  can  be  compared  with  it;  by  its  side,  Bronson  How 
ard's  "Shenandoah"  is  stagey. 

In  these  sophisticated  days,  audiences  are  looking  for 
motives,  for  powerful  scenes,  for  emotional  psychology. 
From  the  motive  standpoint,  Mr.  Gillette  might  have  been 
led  to  write  a  play  of  purpose,  after  appearing  in  "  The 
Admirable  Crichton "  —  one  of  the  most  delightful  of 
speculative  satires.  But  he  was  content  to  amuse  himself 
with  the  character  of  the  Butler,  a  role  which  fitted  exactly 
into  the  eccentricities  of  Mr.  Gillette,  the  actor.  Once 
he  allowed  himself  to  stretch  beyond  his  limitations,  and 
in  his  own  adaptation  of  Bernstein's  "Samson,"  he  entered 
the  realm  of  emotion.  But  he  is  distinctively  unemotional. 
Even  in  simple  love  scenes,  such  as  one  finds  in  "Secret 
Service"  and  in  "Clarice,"  he  makes  appeal  through  the 
sentiment  of  situation,  through  the  exquisite  sensitiveness 
of  outward  detail,  rather  than  through  romantic  attitude 
and  heart  fervor. 

It  has  gone  against  the  grain  for  Mr.  Gillette  to  be  purpose 
ful;  one  would  think  that  this  might  lead  to  his  being  pro 
lific.  But  Mr.  Gillette  is  the  most  cautious  of  dramatists. 
Fundamentally,  he  is  right  regarding  his  belief  that  audiences 
wish  to  be  amused.  Life  has  enough  worries  without  going 
to  the  theatre  to  be  worried.  Therefore,  he  turns  on  green 
lights  in  "Sherlock  Holmes"  —  the  same  green  lights  that 
illuminate  the  page  of  "Ragged  Dick"  —  and  people  who 
have  patronized  Ibsen's  "The  Wild  Duck"  and  "Rosmers- 
holm,"  sit  enthralled.  He  dramatizes  a  cigar  in  "Secret 


168  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Service"  and  in  "Sherlock  Holmes/'  using  it  also  to  effect 
in  Barrie's  "The  Admirable  Crichton."  As  a  dramatist, 
Mr.  Gillette  has  done  much  to  prove  the  legitimacy  of 
melodrama;  he  has  demonstrated  that  violence  alone  in  art 
separates  Broadway  from  the  Bowery. 

Mr.  Gillette  and  Mr.  Thomas  are  the  only  ones  of  our 
living  dramatists  who  have  successfully  demonstrated  that 
the  cardboard  play  does  not  have  to  be  shallow;  that  it  is, 
in  fact,  a  virtue  when  its  organism  is  understood  and  is  not 
over-worked.  For  no  matter  how  subtle  an  idea,  the  play 
is  a  concrete  thing. 

The  following  plays  by  William  Gillette,  in  order  of  appearance, 
have  been  issued  by  Samuel  French  in  French's  "Standard  Library 
Edition  of  Plays":  "Held  by  the  Enemy,"  "Secret  Service,"  "Too 
Much  Johnson."  "Electricity"  was  published  in  The  Drama  for  No 
vember,  1913,  preceded  by  an  essay  on  Gillette's  work  by  Professor 
Richard  Burton. 

"Secret  Service"  is  included  in  A.  H.  Quinn's  "Representative 
American  Plays,"  and  in  synopsis  is  issued  in  J.  A.  Pierce's  "The 
Masterpieces  of  Modern  Drama." 

A  most  valuable  contribution  to  the  literature  of  the  stage  is 
Mr.  Gillette's  paper  on  "The  Illusion  of  the  First  Time  in  Acting," 
introduced  with  a  brilliant  foreword  by  Mr.  George  Arliss,  and 
both  published  by  the  Dramatic  Museum  of  Columbia  University. 
Mr.  Gillette  is  represented  in  Clark's  "The  British  and  American 
Drama  of  To-day." 

The  following  plays  by  Augustus  Thomas,  each  prefaced  by  the 
author,  have  been  issued  in  Samuel  French's  "Standard  Library 
Edition,"  given  in  the  order  of  their  publication:  "The  Witching 
Hour,"  "In  Mizzoura,"  "Mrs.  Leffingwell's  Boots,"  "Oliver  Gold 
smith,"  "The  Harvest  Moon,"  "The  Other  Girl,"  "The  Earl  of 
Pawtucket,"  "The  Capitol."  "As  a  Man  Thinks"  was  published 
in  1911  by  Duffield  &  Co. 

For  other  separate  issues  of  Mr.  Thomas's  plays,  see  "The  Witch 
ing  Hour,"  in  Dickinson's  "Chief  Contemporary  Dramatists," 
and  in  A.  H.  Quinn's  "Representative  American  Plays";  this  play 
is  likewise  given  in  synopsis  in  "The  Masterpieces  of  Modern 
Drama,"  edited  by  J.  A.  Pierce.  "In  Mizzoura"  is  included  in 
Vol.  Ill  of  "Representative  Dramas  by  American  Dramatists," 
edited  by  M.  J.  Moses. 


CHAPTER  X 

CONCERNING  CLYDE  FITCH  AND  THE  LOCAL  SENSE 

THERE  are  three  important  elements  involved  in  the  writ 
ing  of  a  play:  the  sense  of  situation,  the  sense  of  character 
ization,  and  the  sense  of  dialogue.  If  regarded  in  the  light 
of  recent  stagecraft,  it  will  be  seen  that  no  matter  what 
the  type  of  play  may  be,  no  matter  what  the  problem  of  the 
play  may  be,  the  infinite  ramifications  found  in  a  perfectly 
constructed  drama  are  usually  gathered  together  under 
these  three  fundamental  heads.  Our  American  dramatist 
has  to  a  very  commendable  and  remarkable  degree  mastered 
within  recent  years  two  of  these  characteristics.  Living 
in  an  atmosphere  where  situation  dominates  every  corner 
of  our  national  existence,  it  is  not  strange  that  his  eye  should 
be  trained  to  catch  the  essentials  of  the  moment.  This  quick 
ness  on  his  part  is  due  not  only  to  inherited  tendencies,  but 
to  training  as  well. 

Moreover,  being  particularly  keen  as  to  the  how  and  the 
wherefore,  rather  than  the  why,  the  American  is  prone  to  draw 
from  national  existence  that  which  he  asks  for,  and  to  re 
ceive  answer  from  his  fellows  according  to  the  value,  the 
force  of  the  question  he  puts.  This  modus  operandi  con 
stitutes  the  distinct  school  of  training  in  which  our  American 
playwright  has  thus  far  been  educated. 

Let  us  consider  for  a  moment  the  statement  made  before, 
that  among  our  younger  men  who  are  essaying  the  dramatic 
form  as  a  means  of  expression,  the  larger  number  have  been 


170  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

at  some  period  of  their  careers  engaged  in  newspaper  report 
ing.  What  bearing  has  this  fact  upon  their  workmanship? 
First,  it  has  required  of  the  reporter,  who  is  after  daily  oc 
currences,  to  grasp  the  essential  points  in  a  story,  to  make 
use  only  of  those  factors  which  will  picturesquely  represent 
in  a  rapid  fashion  the  progress  of  a  tragedy  or  the  narration 
of  a  situation.  The  reporter  is  furthermore  required  to  sense 
this  situation  with  his  eye;  his  style  must  be  shaped  so  as 
to  depict  that  process  of  visual  motion.  Color  and  action 
are  his  goal.  The  error  of  his  way  lies  in  his  absolute  ignor 
ing  of  the  logical  sequence  of  events  on  one  hand,  and  in  his 
failure  to  recognize  the  difference  between  relative  and  true 
proportion  on  the  other.  Not  so  very  long  ago,  in  conver 
sation  with  Augustus  Thomas,  I  was  not  surprised  to  find 
him '  confessing  that  to  his  newspaper  experience  he  owes 
his  success  as  a  writer  of  dialogue.  To  his  way  of  thinking, 
the  value  of  an  interview  rests  in  the  dexterity  with  which 
the  incisive,  the  irresistible,  the  compelling  question  is  put. 
What,  after  all,  is  drama  but  the  interchange  of  just  this  kind 
of  talk? 

In  England,  Pinero  is  one  of  the  prolific  writers  of  plays. 
I  have  elsewhere  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  had  not 
the  dramatic  instinct  been  uppermost,  Pinero  would  have 
been  a  novelist;  and  this  same  statement  is  true  of  Clyde 
Fitch.  The  man  who  has  the  ability  to  tell  a  story,  and  to 
tell  it  in  an  easy,  interesting  fashion,  possesses  the  art  of 
the  narrator.  But  if  in  addition  he  sees  the  story  in  action, 
he  is  somehow  forced  to  tell  it  in  accordance  with  the  form 
which  action  demands.  In  other  words,  whenever  the  novel 
ist  introduces  into  his  book  an  active  interchange  of  person 
ality  with  personality,  he  is  compelled  to  use  the  very  form 
that  distinguishes  drama;  that  is,  dialogue.  The  playwright 
translates  life  wholly  in  terms  of  action,  in  terms  of  con 
versation,  in  terms  of  situation.  His  idea  must  almost 


Photo,  by  Sarony 


CLYDE  FITCH 


CLYDE  FITCH  AND  THE  LOCAL  SENSE    171 

invariably  be  involved  closely  with  the  effects  of  this  idea 
on  the  characters  of  his  play,  and  on  the  development  of  the 
plot  of  his  play.  This  is  not  saying,  in  reference  to  novel 
writing,  that  we  may  cut  the  dialogue  from  a  book,  and  piece 
it  together,  thus  making  a  play.  This  method  has  been  the 
cause  of  so  many  failures  consequent  upon  the  hasty  dram 
atization  of  novels.  The  essential  structure  of  each  form  is 
different,  and  it  is  this  difference  in  the  framework  of  these 
two  forms  of  art  that  made  Arthur  Wing  Pinero  in  London 
and  Clyde  Fitch  in  New  York,  dramatists  rather  than  novel 
ists. 

The  latter  was  comparatively  a  young  man  at  the  time 
of  his  death,  yet  the  body  of  his  work  —  which  never  showed 
abatement  in  its  increasing  proportions  —  is  so  large  as  to 
overcloud  by  its  very  profuseness  the  pleasing  qualities 
which  it  assuredly  has.1  The  gift  of  writing  dialogue  easily, 

1  Mr.  Fitch  was  born  at  Elmira,  New  York,  Mayj2, 1865;  educated 
at  Amherst  College;  wrote  the  following  plays:  "Beau  Brummel"* 
(1890);  "Betty's  Finish"  (1890);  "Fr&teric  Lemaltre"  (1890); 
"A  Modern  Match"  (1891,  subsequently  played  as  "Marriage"); 
"Pamela's  Prodigy"  (1891);  "The  Masked  Ball,"  from  the  French 
(1892);  "The  Harvest"  (1893,  which  play,  in  one  act,  was  pre 
sented  by  the  Society  of  Arts  and  Letters)  [the  plot  was  afterwards 
used  in  "The  Moth  and  the  Flame"];  "A  Shattered  Idol,"  from 
the  French  (1893);  "The  American  Duchess,"  from  the  French 
(1893);  "The  Social  Swim"  (1893);  "Mrs.  Grundy,  Jun.,"  from 
the  French  (1894);  "His  Grace  de  Grammont"  (1894);  "April 
Weather"  (1894);  "Mistress  Betty"  (1895,  subsequently  revised 
and  produced  in  1905  as  "The  Toast  of  the  Town"f);  "Gos 
sip,"  with  Leo  Ditrichstein  (1895);  "Bohemia,"  from  the  French 
(1896);  "The  Liar,"  from  the  French  (1896);  "A  Superfluous 
Husband,"  with  Leo  Ditrichstein  (1897);  "Nathan  Hale"*  (1898); 
"The  Moth  and  the  Flame"  (1898);  "The  Head  of  the  Family," 
from  the  German,  with  Leo  Ditrichstein  (1898);  "The  Cowboy 
and  the  Lady"  (1899);  "Barbara  Frietchie"*  (1899);  "Sapho," 
from  the  French  (1900);  "The  Climbers"!  (1900);  /'Captain  Jinks 
of  the  Horse  Marines"*  (1901);  "Lover's  Lane"  (1901);  "The 
Last  of  the  Dandies"  (1901);  "The  Way  of  the  World"  (1901); 
"The  Girl  and  the  Judge"  (1901);  "The  Marriage  Game,"  from 


172  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

the  excellent  distinction  of  being  endowed  with  a  prolific, 
inventive  talent,  are  sometimes  dangerous,  even  though 
they  may  be  fortunate  qualities  to  own.  If  the  dramatist 
working  at  high  speed  would  only  take  time  to  realize  that 
his  rapidity  of  execution  is  due  solely  to  his  employment 
of  only  two  out  of  the  three  elements  underlying  all  drama, 
the  net  result  of  his  product  would  be  of  more  permanent 
value,  because  he  would  then  become  aware  of  the  fact  that 
he  is  not  making  full  use  of  the  third  element.  The  idea  in  a 
drama  is  the  vital  spot  in  its  construction. 

From  the  time  that  Mr.  Fitch  graduated  from  Amherst 
College,  he  was  actively  engaged  with  his  pen,  beginning 
by  writing  lighter  verse,  and  also  by  working  out  some  prose 
sketches  which  cannot  be  termed  fiction  in  the  true  sense  of 
the  word.  "The  Knighting  of  the  Twins,  and  Ten  Other 
Tales"  (189 1),1  is  now  little  known  though  it  contains  most 
charming  delineations  of  child  life.  To  the  student  of  Mr. 

the  French  (1901);  "The  Stubbornness  of  Geraldine"f  (1902); 
"The  Girl  with  the  Green  Eyes"f  (1902);  "The  Frisky  Mrs. 
Johnson,"  from  the  French  (1903);  "The  Bird  in  the  Cage"  (1903); 
"Algy"  (1903);  "Her  Own  Way"f  (1903);  "Glad  of  It"  (1903); 
"Major  Andre"  (1903);  "The  Coronet  of  a  Duchess"  (1904); 
"Granny"  (1904);  "Cousin  Billy"  (1904);  "The  Woman  in  the 
Case"  (1904);  "Her  Great  Match"  (1905);  "Wolfville"  (1905); 
"The  Girl  Who  Has  Everything"  (1906);  "Toddles,"  from  the 
French  (1906);  "The  House  of  Mirth,"  with  Mrs.  Wharton  (1906); 
"The  Truth"  (1906);  "The  Straight  Road"  (1906);  "Her  Sister" 
(1907);  "The  Blue  Mouse,"  adapted  from  the  German  (1908); 
"Girls"  (1908);  "A  Happy  Marriage"  (1909);  "The  Bachelor" 
(1909);  "The  City"  (1910).  Mr.  Fitch  died  at  Chalons-sur-Marne, 
September  4,  1909.  A  gossipy  account  of  "The  Clyde  Fitch  I 
Knew"  has  been  published  by  Archie  Bell.  Its  chief  excellence  lies 
in  a  few  flashes  of  Mr.  Fitch's  vivacious  personality  and  in  the 
chronology  of  his  work. 

The  plays  marked  thus  (*)  have  been  published;   those  marked 
thus  (t)  belong  to  an  excellent  inexpensive  series  of  Mr.  Fitch's 
plays  which  the  Macmillan  Company  issued, 
i  Republished  (1911). 


CLYDE  FITCH  AND  THE  LOCAL  SENSE    173 

Fitch's  dramas  they  suggest  those  main  characteristics  of  his 
own  attitude  toward  life  and  the  conditions  of  life  which 
dominated  most  of  his  later  stage  work.  For  by  temperament 
Mr.  Fitch  was  a  sentimentalist,  and  because  of  temperament 
he  viewed  the  details  of  environment  in  their  bearing  upon 
feeling. 

Mr.  Fitch  was,  to  a  certain  degree,  also  a  realist,  if  by 
realism  we  mean  the  handling  of  everyday  occurrences  and 
of  the  familiar  natural  problems  of  existence;  but  his  real 
istic  data  was  usually  subjected  to  a  high  light  of  what  at 
one  moment  we  might  term  German  romanticism  and  at 
another  moment  French  sentimentalism.  Much  as  quite 
a  few  of  his  plays  have  been  discussed  from  the  standpoint  of 
their  feminine  suggestiveness  and  from  the  standpoint  of 
their  feminine  sensuous  interests,  in  point  of  morality  Mr. 
Fitch  was  wholly  conventional.  His  cleverness  in  over 
coming  this  conventional  tendency  rested  on  his  theatrical 
employment  of  the  unusual.  In  other  words,  in  point  of 
visual  sense,  Mr.  Fitch's  observation  of  little  things  was 
about  as  sane  as  that  of  any  other  living  dramatist,  his  fault 
being  that  he  failed  to  bring  his  minute  observation  in  re 
lation  with  any  large,  vital,  or  sustained  idea. 

In  1897,  Mr.  Fitch  published  a  little  volume  entitled  "The 
Smart  Set  :  Correspondence  &  Conversations."  It  is  an 
other  example  of  the  insistent  dramatist  who  obtrudes  himself 
over  and  above  the  story-teller  in  the  writing  of  a  book.  It 
contains  the  attitude  of  the  dialogue,  and  so  we  may  claim 
that  Mr.  Fitch  was  a  born  playwright,  in  the  double  sense 
that  in  expressing  himself  he  perforce  had  to  use  dialogue, 
and  in  viewing  life  he  invariably  felt  compelled  to  estimate 
it  in  terms  of  situation.  His  undoing  was  that  he  lacked 
the  consuming  idea. 

As  far  as  dramatic  belief  is  concerned,  Mr.  Fitch  was 
thoroughly  sincere.  He  lived  up  to  his  convictions  as  to 


174  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

what  drama  should  be  in  general,  and  he  expressed  his  con 
victions  in  the  following  terms: 

"  I  feel  myself  very  strongly  the  particular  value  —  a 
value  which,  rightly  or  wrongly,  I  can't  help  feeling  inesti 
mable  —  in  a  modern  play,  of  reflecting  absolutely  and  truth 
fully  the  life  and  environment  about  us;  every  class,  every 
kind,  every  emotion,  every  motive,  every  occupation,  every 
business,  every  idleness  I  Never  was  life  so  varied,  so  com 
plex.  .  .  .  Take  what  strikes  you  most,  in  the  hope  it  will 
interest  others;  take  what  suits  you  most  to  do  —  what 
perhaps  you  can  do  best,  and  then  do  it  better.  Be  truthful, 
and  then  nothing  can  be  too  big,  nothing  should  be  too 
small,  so  long  as  it  is  here  and  there.  ...  If  you  inculcate  an 
idea  in  your  play,  so  much  the  better  for  your  play  and  for 
you  and  for  your  audience.  In  fact,  there  is  small  hope  for 
your  play  as  a  play,  if  you  have  not  some  idea  in  it,  some 
where  and  somehow,  even  if  it  is  hidden.  It  is  sometimes 
better  for  you  if  it  is  hidden,  but  it  must  of  course  be  integral. 
.  .  .  One  should  write  what  one  sees,  but  observe  under 
the  surface.  It  is  a  mistake  to  look  at  the  reflection  of  the 
sky  in  the  water  of  theatrical  convention;  instead,  look  up 
and  into  the  sky  of  real  life  itself." 

This  quotation  contains  the  essence  of  Mr.  Fitch's  attitude 
toward  life.  It  shows  him  prone  to  place  idea  throughout 
his  work  in  a  secondary  position,  and  he  thus  unconsciously 
became  a  very  true  critic  of  himself.  For  he  was  given  to 
infuse  into  his  picturesque  entertainments  some  small  sem 
blance  of  ideas,  which,  while  not  seemingly  vital,  were  so 
commonplace  as  to  have  intimate  connection  with  the  human 
side  of  his  audiences.  "The  Climbers,"  "The  Girl  with  the 
Green  Eyes,"  "The  Girl  and  the  Judge,"  "Her  Own  Way," 
—  each  of  these  contains  an  element  of  live  meaning, 
apart  from  the  mere  interest  of  story  or  attractiveness 
of  scene;  and  this  very  presence  of  a  suggestion  of  the 


CLYDE  FITCH  AND  THE  LOCAL  SENSE    175 

vital  spark  in  drama  is  what  made  one  most  regretful  re 
garding  Mr.  Fitch  as  a  dramatist.  For  he  had  that  within 
him,  out  of  which  worthy  dramatic  literature  might  have 
been  evolved. 

The  general  impression  was  that  he  did  not  make  good, 
for  the  very  reason  that  his  ideas  never  seemed  to  arrive. 
That  he  was  not  consciously  imitative  of  foreign  models  is 
observable  by  the  fact  that  whenever  he  attempted  to  ab 
sorb  foreign  situations,  whenever  he  adapted  French  pieces, 
such  as  "Sapho,"  those  qualities  for  which  he  might  be 
justly  praised  were  either  corrupted  or  wholly  absent  from 
the  scene.  But  Mr.  Fitch  was  not  indifferent  to  foreign 
activity,  especially  as  manifest  in  the  modern  French  dramas. 
Curiously,  he  welcomed  in  them  just  those  large  and  sig 
nificant  characteristics  which,  had  he  possessed  them,  would 
have  placed  him  in  the  front  ranks  of  the  progressive  dra 
matic  movement.  He  once  said:  "No  one  at  the  present 
moment  is  getting  the  essence  of  his  environment  in  thought, 
word,  and  deed,  as  Hervieu,  Lavedan,  Donnay,  Capus: 
Capus  with  the  idea  for  the  basic  principle,  the  idea  serious; 
Lavedan  and  Donnay,  the  idea  social;  Capus  all  sorts  of 
ideas  together,  any  old  idea  so  long  as  it  is  always  life  — 
especially  the  life  superficial,  with  the  undercurrent  really 
kept  under." 

Our  American  dramatist  has,  during  the  past  decade, 
developed  within  himself  a  tremendous  sense  of  locality.  This 
is  very  natural,  considering  his  keenness  of  observation. 
But  he  has  not  yet  sufficiently  balanced  this  observation 
with  an  intellectual  perspective  of  those  characteristics  which 
go  to  make  the  nation.  We  could  more  readily  describe 
Mr.  Fitch  by  saying  that  he  was  a  typical  New  York  dram 
atist,  than  a  typical  American  dramatist;  for  the  conventions 
running  through  his  plays  are  those  of  a  society  which  is 
common  to  New  York  City.  Even  in  his  scenic  indications, 


176  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

he  preferred  to  appeal  to  the  local  sense  of  New  Yorkers.  His 
"  Major  Andre,"  played  at  the  Savoy  Theatre,  was  supposed 
to  have  taken  place  in  an  old  colonial  residence  situated 
exactly  on  the  spot  occupied  by  the  Savoy  Theatre  itself. 
His  "  Glad  of  It"  had  one  act  behind  the  scenes  of  the  Savoy 
Theatre.  His  "  Captain  Jinks  of  the  Horse  Marines"  opened 
on  the  docks  of  the  Cunard  Steamship  CompanyCT-The  lastr 
two  acts  of  "The  Truth"  were  laid  in  a  Harlem  flat 
was  filled  with  allusions  to  apartment  life  in  New  York, 
only  New  Yorkers  could  fully  appreciate. 

This  local  sense  is  most  likely  to  be  encouraged  in  those 
dramatists  who  have  gained  experience  through  newspaper 
reporting.  Mr.  JUjomas  confesses  that  when  he  began  to 
write  for  the  stage,  he  mentally  divided  the  country  into 
various  sections  for  his  own  purposes.  He  did  this  by  cen 
tring  his  attention  upon  the  social  position  women  occupied 
in  the  North,  South,  East,  and  West,  and  he  states  the  case 
thus :  "  In  the  South  the  unwritten  law  and  the  spotlessness 
of  a  woman's  reputation  are  the  first  items,  as  they  are  the 
last.  In  the  middle  West  they  are  not  so  punctilious;  and 
in  the  far  West,  where  the  scarcity  of  the  article  raises  its 
price,  a  woman's  position  is  not  prohibitive,  if,  after  ac 
cepting  a  man's  name  and  his  protection,  she  runs  straight 
and  is  true.  In  the  North  we  have  commenced  to  accept  the 
English  idea  of  compensation  and  consideration  for  services 
to  the  husband  where  a  wife  has  been  seduced."  Whether 
Mr.  Thomas  actually  did  regard  the  country  from  this 
standpoint  must  be  supported  by  careful  examination  of 
his  plays,  but  we  believe  that  this  statement  of  his  is  more 
closely  applicable  to  Mr.  Fitch's  own  consideration  of  the 
sex  problem.  His  plays  were  avowedly  romantic,  their 
psychology  mostly  commonplace  and  healthy.  It  was  dis 
tinctively  the  psychology  of  the  story-teller,  and  in  in 
stances  was  not  only  cleverly,  but  realistically,  portrayed. 


CLYDE  FITCH  AND  THE  LOCAL  SENSE    177 

For  instance,  "The  Girl  with  the  Green  Eyes"  is  a  close, 
persistent  analysis  of  jealousy. 

Mr.  Fitch  attempted  nearly  every  form  of  drama.  His 
character  studies,  such  as  those  typified  by  "  Beau  Brummel" 
—  written  in  conjunction  with  Mr.  Mansfield,  —  "  Frederic 
Lemaitre,"  and  "His  Grace  de  Grammont,"  reveal  a 
delicacy  and  deftness  which,  although  lacking  in  virility, 
constitute,  none  the  less,  miniatures  of  a  notable  order.  He 
attempted  war  drama  in  his  "Nathan  Hale"  and  "Barbara 
Frietchie,"  but  they  may  be  described  as  war  dramas  with 
the  war  left  out.  He  wrote  straight  comedies  as  v  ell  as  farces; 
and  in  the  realm  of  melodrama,  such  a  piece  as  "  The  Woman 
in  the  Case"  might  be  taken  as  a  typical  example. 

The  interest  of  Mr.  Fitch  usually  centred  upon  the  femi 
nine  side  of  his  play.  No  writer  for  the  stage  had  a  keener 
sense  of  changing  styles  and  foibles  than  he.  Oftentimes  his 
weakness  lay  in  his  too  great  dependence  upon  the  novelty 
or  familiarity  of  detail.  He  wrote  so  many  pieces  with  these 
characteristics,  that  we  were  never  startled  by  Mr.  Fitch's 
inventive  powers.  Before  going  to  see  a  new  piece,  we  were 
almost  sure  of  finding  certain  familiar  features  which  belonged 
to  no  one  else  but  him.  Our  curiosity  was  piqued,  but 
so  distinctly  did  we  imagine  that  we  knew  the  flavor  of  Mr. 
Fitch's  atmosphere,  that  unless  he  gave  us  that  flavor  we 
left  the  theatre  disappointed.  We  can  say  of  "  The  Climbers," 
for  example,  that  through  the  customary  method  Mr.  Fitch 
employed,  his  public  was  willing  to  find  amusement  in  the 
first  act  of  a  play  which  opened  in  a  house  of  mourning  a 
short  while  after  the  burial  service  had  been  performed. 
In  "  The  Stubbornness  of  Geraldine,"  which  in  point  of  love 
interest  is  as  typically  German  as  "Her  Great  Match," 
the  cleverness  of  representing  the  deck  of  one  of  our  large 
ocean  liners  was  legitimately  entertaining. 

But  the  Fitch  flavor,  wThich  was  so  familiar  to  theatre- 


178  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

goers,  and  which  might  almost  be  said  to  have  become 
crystallized,  created  in  the  forty  or  fifty  plays,  which  are  to 
his  credit,  a  level  of  cleverness  above  which  very  few  of  the 
pieces  stand  out.  Nearly  all  of  his  plays  bore  a  close  relation 
ship,  one  with  the  other.  His  heroines  were  mostly  of  the 
same  romantic  type,  his  heroes  had  the  same  polished  daring. 
It  is  a  mistaken  idea  that  there  are  but  few  ways  in  drama 
of  creating  humor.  We  may  no  doubt  reduce  an  analysis 
of  humor  to  a  certain  number  of  elements,  but  the  combi 
nations  of  those  elements  are  infinite.  The  fault  with  Mr. 
Fitch's  humor  rested  in  the  fact  that  he  was  prone  to  use 
the  same  combinations  over  and  over  again.  I  would  say 
of  him  that  his  grasp  of  the  life  and  manners  of  New  York, 
from  earliest  times,  was  more  intimate  than  that  possessed 
by  any  other  dramatist  or  writer  of  the  day.  Because  of 
this  grasp,  he  was  able  to  play  with  details,  to  contrast  the 
past  with  the  present,  to  create  his  humor  by  means  of  this 
balance  of  the  past  with  the  present.  Take,  for  example, 
"Captain  Jinks  of  the  Horse  Marines."  The  references  to 
Hoboken  made  by  Madame  Trentoni  are  put  from  the  stand 
point  of  those  early  times,  rather  than  from  the  standpoint 
of  to-day.  Should  one  read  the  diaries  of  Tyrone  Power, 
the  grandfather  of  the  present  actor  of  that  name,  he  would 
find  the  same  characteristic  innuendoes  that  sound  humor 
ous  to  us  to-day,  simply  because  they  —  while  not  wholly 
true  of  the  Hoboken  of  the  present  —  have,  nevertheless,  an 
element  of  truth  in  them. 

Mr.  Fitch  created  humor,  likewise,  by  a  method  of  com 
paring  material  advance.  When  Madame  Trentoni  comes 
down  the  gang-plank  and  meets  the  New  York  newspaper 
reporters,  she  is  enthusiastic  about  the  quickness  of  the 
trip  over  —  something  like  fourteen  days  —  and  the  reporters 
boast  that  in  time  to  come  they  will  even  be  able  to  make 
it  in  ten  days.  In  view  of  the  Lusitania,  one  cannot  help 


CLYDE  FITCH  AND  THE  LOCAL  SENSE    179 

but  smile!  And  this  was  the  deftness  of  Mr.  Fitch  at  full 
play.  Take  away  from  him  those  characteristics  that  were 
known  as  the  Fitch  qualities,  and  which  might  be  termed 
superficial  qualities  if  they  were  not  truthful  reproductions 
—  however  they  might  be  superficial  —  and  the  remaining 
characteristics  would  indicate  his  limitations. 

The  comedy  of  manners  is  not  only  a  legitimate  form  of 
dramatic  art,  but  it  is  also  one  of  the  hardest  forms  to  make 
vital.  "The  School  for  Scandal"  has  persisted  from  gener 
ation  to  generation,  not  because  of  its  story,  not  because 
of  its  reflection  of  eighteenth  century  habits  and  customs, 
not  because  of  its  idea,  which  is  hardly  noteworthy,  but 
because  of  its  humanity  underlying  the  superficial,  a  human 
ity  which  is  eternal,  whether  in  powder  and  patches,  in  hoop- 
skirts,  or  in  the  fashions  of  the  present.  There  is  a  spontaneous 
flow  of  humor  in  this  drama,  dependent  upon  character, 
rather  than  upon  situation  or  local  reference.  In  fact,  an 
over-abundance  of  local  reference  would  take  the  sympa 
thetic  appeal  away  from  a  comedy  after  the  age  had  passed. 

Moreover,  an  over-emphasis  of  the  local,  even  at  close 
range,  is  detrimental  to  the  understanding  of  a  piece,  out 
side  that  particular  locality.  Local  characteristics,  even 
national  characteristics  are  only  useful,  in  so  far  as  they 
help  to  round  out  the  character-value  of  the  play.  The 
Americanism  in  "The  Lion  and  the  Mouse"  was  its  ruin 
ation  in  England.  The  Western  allusions  in  George  Ade's 
"The  College  Widow/'  which  was  presented  in  London, 
hastened  its  return  home.  It  is  to  be  remarked  that  Mr. 
Fitch  successfully  produced  abroad  only  those  plays  of  his 
that  were  more  French  in  flavor  than  American.  "The 
Cowboy  and  the  Lady"  was  only  fairly  received.  But  "The 
Truth"  has  not  only  brought  success  to  Marie  Tempest; 
because  of  its  foreign  atmosphere,  it  has  won  its  way  through 
out  the  Continent.  Americans  never  quite  realized  how 


180  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

much  of  a  reputation  Mr.  Fitch  had  abroad.  His  last  trip 
to  Europe  was  a  veritable  sweep  of  the  theatrical  field. 
London  had  just  received  favorably  "The  Woman  in  the 
Case/'  and  other  managers  were  clamoring  for  his  pieces, 
no  matter  how  old  they  were.  Sir  Charles  Wyndham  was 
watching  "  The  Blue  Mouse/'  Belasco  was  seeking  a  contract 
with  him,  and  every  one  was  envious  of  the  Shuberts  who 
had  secured  the  rights  to  "The  City,"  that  play  which  was 
to  prove  the  last  forceful  flash  of  the  maturing  Mr.  Fitch. 

The  list  of  plays  I  have  compiled  will  indicate  some  of 
the  activity  of  Mr.  Fitch.  It  will  show  that  in  point  of 
variety,  if  not  in  point  of  solidity,  he  was  closely  akin  to 
Mr.  Pinero,  without  that  deep  interest  in  the  psychology 
of  character  which  marks  the  English  playwright.  It  might 
almost  be  said  that  the  majority  of  his  plays  were  but  vari 
ations  of  the  same  theme.  His  technique  was  sometimes 
skilful,  at  other  times  it  was  hasty  and  crude;  at  its  best 
it  was  more  polished  than  vigorous.  In  the  matter  of  dram 
atization,  one  might  well  imagine  why  Mr.  Fitch  was  un 
successful  in  turning  Alfred  Henry  Lewis's  "Wolfville 
Stories"  into  a  Western  play.  But  it  is  less  evident,  except 
in  the  inherent  defects  that  beset  the  dramatization  of  any 
novel,  why  it  was  that  "The  House  of  Mirth,"  a  distinct 
ively  New  York  story  of  the  smart-set,  written  by  Mrs. 
Wharton,  should  have  missed  the  mark. 

One  final  characteristic  of  Mr.  Fitch  needs  to  be  noted, 
and  it  becomes  distinctive  if  the  reader  is  at  all  familiar 
with  the  personalities  involved.  Mr.  Fitch  nearly  always 
wrote  his  plays  with  a  definite  actress  in  view.  The  con 
sequence  is  that  his  characters  almost  invariably  partook 
of  the  personality  of  their  model.  In  "The  Truth"  and  in 
"  The  Girl  with  the  Green  Eyes,"  the  heroines  are  markedly 
like  the  late  Clara  Bloodgood.  In  "The  Stubbornness  of 
Geraldine,"  the  heroine  is  closely  related  to  Mary  Manner- 


CLYDE  FITCH  AND  THE  LOCAL  SENSE    181 

ing.  It  is  hard  to  find  a  better  portrait  of  Miss  Barrymore 
than  in  "Captain  Jinks."  "Her  Own  Way"  is  identified 
with  Maxine  Elliott,  and  "Barbara  Frietchie"  is  synony 
mous  with  Julia  Marlowe. 

Thus,  after  noting  the  chief  plays  to  Mr.  Fitch's  credit, 
we  return  to  the  original  thesis,  which  dealt  with  the  three 
underlying  factors  in  drama.  Our  consideration  has  un 
doubtedly  shown  that  what  Mr.  Fitch  needed  most  was  the 
accentuation  of  the  element  of  idea,  of  vital  idea.  By  the 
cultivating  of  this,  he  would  perforce  have  been  obliged 
to  work  less  rapidly.  But  Mr.  Fitch  was  never  careless, 
even  in  his  rapidity.  Quick  workmanship  was  part  of  his 
nature;  he  was  quick  to  observe  and  quick  to  appreciate. 
His  humor  was  ever  present,  and  he  dramatized  everything 
that  came  within  his  vision.  To  his  sense  of  character,  his 
sense  of  situation,  and  his  sense  of  dialogue,  Mr.  Fitch  added 
a  fourth  sense  distinctively  his  own  —  that  of  New  York 
locality.  His  position  in  American  drama  is  one  which  has 
afforded  a  large  amount  of  healthy  enjoyment;  and  to  have 
done  this  is  to  have  done  a  great  deal.  In  the  matter  of  con 
struction,  his  plays  that  have  been  published  will  serve  the 
dramatic  student  as  excellent  examples  of  external  stage 
craft.  They  will  illustrate  for  him  in  what  manner  the 
observation  of  familiar  detail  may  be  made  use  of,  theatri 
cally;  they  will  illustrate  in  what  way  the  interest  of  an 
audience  may  be  held  through  an  ordinary,  though  none 
the  less  picturesque,  story.1 

1  The  following  references  will  prove  suggestive:  Book  Buyer, 
17:118  (E.  F.  Coward);  Book  Buyer,  16:323  (E.  A.  Dithmar); 
Critic,  38:225  (J.  R.  Towse). 

"  Barbara  Frietchie  " :  Literature,  5:411 ;  Pub.  Opin.,  27:563;  Harp. 
W.,  43:1096  (J.  Corbin);  Lit.  W.,  30:361  (J.  D.  Barry);  B'krnan, 
10:317  (N.  Hapgood);  Critic,  35:1143  (J.  R.  Towse). 

"  Cowboy  and  the  Lady  ":  Athanceum,  '99,  1:731;  Sat.  Rev.,  87:718 
(M .  Beerbohm ) . 


182  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Clyde  Fitch  has  been  dead  over  a  year  (1911).  Had  he  lived 
much  beyond  forty-five,  we  should  have  seen  a  certain 
transformation  in  his  technique,  and  a  more  pronounced 
purpose  in  his  plots;  for  he  was  becoming  deeply  conscious 
of  the  fundamental  truths  of  life,  and  he  was  eager  to  put 
strength  into  his  dialogue  in  order  to  offset  the  delicacy 
and  feminine  flashes  which  the  public  always  considered 
purely  Fitchean.  "The  City"  was  his  first,  as  it  proved 
to  be  his  last,  effort  in  that  direction. 

Mr.  Fitch  often  claimed  that  he  was  always  measured  in 
the  public  press  by  stereotyped  phrases  which  clung  to  him 
because  his  manner  was  ever  the  same.  He  deplored  the 
fact  that  the  newspapers  failed  to  give  him  credit  for  his 
close  study  of  character,  such  as  one  finds  in  "  The  Girl  with 
the  Green  Eyes"  and  in  "The  Truth."  Only  after  he  was 
dead  did  the  critics  begin  to  realize  the  incommunicable 
flavor  permeating  his  dramas.  This  flavor  came  partly 
from  a  close  understanding  of  New  York  life,  whether  of  the 
past  or  of  the  present  —  in  "  Captain  Jinks  of  the  Horse 
Marines"  or  in  "Girls."  But  it  was  in  larger  share  the 
flavor  of  personality.  No  degree  of  profundity  could  ever 
have  limited  Clyde  Fitch's  enthusiasm  while  writing  or 
rehearsing;  he  was  quick  in  mind  and  in  execution,  and 
sometimes  his  very  deftness  and  easy  brilliancy  were  his 
undoing.  He  realized  this;  he  tried  his  best  to  push  back 
the  numberless  contracts  and  offers  which  claimed  his 
time. 

;    He  took  his  success  as  naively  as  a  boy,  but  he  was  plan 
ning  to  place  more  attention  upon  the  message  than  he  had 

"Head  of  the  Family":  II  Am.,  24:492;  Harp.  W.,  42:1273  (J. 
Corbin). 

"Moth  and  the  Flame":   Critic,  n.  s.,  29:271. 

"Nathan  Hale":  Harp.W.,  43:35;  B'kman,  8:528  (N.  Hapgood); 
Critic,  34:142;  Harp.  W.,  43:213  (J.  Corbin). 


CLYDE  FITCH  AND  THE  LOCAL  SENSE    183 

heretofore  done.  This  may  later  have  handicapped  him, 
for  passages  of  an  ethical  nature  in  "A  Happy  Marriage" 
retarded  the  action  of  the  piece. 

After  all,  the  sum  total  of  his  work  cannot  be  rejected 
from  the  body  of  dramatic  literature;  his  very  style  is  dis 
tinctive  and  is  a  measure  of  the  man's  outlook  upon  life. 
He  told  his  story  simply,  directly,  tenderly  and  humorously. 
Only  when  he  resorted  to  theatrical  trickery  did  his  work 
become  uneven;  and  this  unevenness  accentuated  the  rich 
humanity  and  the  kindly  observation  of  his  normal  plays. 
One  cannot  call  "The  Stubbornness  of  Geraldine"  a  great 
drama,  but  it  has  a  certain  lively  charm  that  no  other  play 
wright  seems  able  to  embody  in  a  play.  The  temptation 
is  to  call  such  sentiment  commonplace.  "Granny"  was 
full  of  it;  so  was  "The  Girl  Who  Has  Everything."  Seeing 
these  plays  in  succession,  the  theatre-goer  would  criticise 
their  apparent  resemblance.  But  an  analysis  would  in 
evitably  lead  to  the  conclusion  that  the  resemblance  lay 
in  the  same  personality  behind  them,  and  not  in  any  monot 
ony  of  detail. 

Clyde  Fitch  was  extravagant  in  his  invention;  he  was 
careless  in  throwing  a  whole  problem  away  within  the  limits 
of  a  line  of  dialogue.  Such  extravagance  was  indicative  of 
his  natural  interest  in  all  things  bearing  on  human  relation 
ships.  He  brought  the  whole  of  life  within  the  compass  of 
home,  and  he  gained  his  audiences  by  a  seeming  comrade 
ship  which  made  them  feel  that  his  windows  overlooked 
the  very  housetops  with  which  they  themselves  were  famil 
iar.  He  knew  how  to  use  the  reporter's  method;  one  could 
see  this  in  "The  Woman  in  the  Case,"  and  in  "The  City." 
But  his  usual  method  was  literary,  not  journalistic;  it 
was  narrative  in  direct  fashion,  and  not  impressionistic. 
And  because  he  knew  his  New  York  so  well,  he  could  afford 
to  throw  out  those  sparks  of  wit  and  humor  which  tran- 


184  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

scend  a  town,  and  are  common  to  all  provincial  attitudes 
toward  life.  If  he  was  cynical,  it  was  friendly  banter;  he 
was  never  bitter.  Yet  looking  deeper  into  the  printed  page 
of  his  published  plays,  it  is  apparent  that  he  had  had  quite 
enough  of  society  at  the  time  of  his  death;  that  the  city 
had  made  such  demands  upon  his  physical  strength  as  to 
turn  his  desire  toward  the  quietness  of  country  life.  There, 
he  would  have  started  the  larger  work  of  a  different  kind 
from  that  characterizing  his  long  list  of  popular  plays. 
Whether  he  would  have  succeeded  as  well  is  a  matter  for 
futile  speculation. 

He  has  been  dead  over  a  year,  and  he  is  missed;  there  is 
no  one  to  take  his  place.  A  remark  was  once  made  by  Thomas 
A.  Edison  to  the  effect  that  he  hoped  some  day  to  have  the 
time  at  his  disposal  for  making  a  real  contribution  to  science. 
But  it  is  not  easy  to  believe  that  anything  he  may  do  will 
ever  surpass  his  actual  genius  in  hitching  his  wagon  to  a 
star;  in  other  words,  in  attaching  a  high  imagination  to 
practical  conditions.  So  was  it  with  Clyde  Fitch.  His 
personality  is  part  of  the  work  he  did,  and  New  York's 
duty  is  clearly  defined,  for  he  is  in  a  sense  the  city's  play 
wright.  America  has  not  yet  understood  what  honor  is 
due  to  such  literary  achievement.  Its  immediate  reward 
was  in  the  crowds  that  constituted  a  Fitch  following  for 
some  fifty  plays,  mostly  popular  in  their  long  "runs."  Still, 
there  is  more  to  do,  for  now  that  he  is  dead,  we  know  that 
something  rare  is  taken  from  the  theatre  —  something 
with  a  distinct  literary  value  —  light,  no  doubt,  airy,  and 
sometimes  frothy,  but  none  the  less  life  with  which  we  are 
all  familiar. 

There  is  nothing  old-fashioned  in  Clyde  Fitch's  attitude 
or  in  his  workmanship;  they  will  scarcely  become  out-of- 
date  for  many  a  decade.  There  are  other  artists  much 
stronger,  with  theories  of  technique  much  more  original.  But 


CLYDE  FiTCH  AND  THE  LOCAL  SENSE    185 

Clyde  Fitch's  originality  is  to  be  found  in  his  close  con 
nection  with  the  material  he  used.  His  audiences  were  given 
much  more  of  himself  than  they  ever  knew.  And  that  is 
why  they  will  never  find  any  other  plays  quite  like 
his. 

The  Memorial  Edition  of  plays  by  Clyde  Fitch,  issued  by  Little 
Brown  &  Company,  and  edited  by  Montrose  J.  Moses  and  Vir 
ginia  Gerson,  contains  the  hitherto  unpublished  plays,  "Lovers' 
Lane"  (1901),  "The  Woman  in  the  Case"  (1905),  and  "The  City" 
(1909). 

Another  hitherto  unpublished  play,  "The  Moth  and  the  Flame" 
(1898),  is  in  "Representative  Dramas  by  American  Dramatists," 
Vol.  Ill,  edited  by  M.  J.  Moses. 

"Her  Great  Match"  (1905)  is  included  in  A.  H.  Quinn's  "Repre 
sentative  American  Plays." 

"The  Truth"  is  included  in  Dickinson's  "Chief  Contemporary 
Dramatists,"  and  is  presented  in  synopsis  in  J.  A.  Pierce's  "The 
Masterpieces  of  Modern  Drama." 

Mr.  Fitch  is  the  subject  of  special  study  in  Clark's  "The  British 
and  American  Drama  of  To-day." 

Bibliographical  material  on  Mr.  Fitch  and  his  work  is  included  in 
"Modern  Drama  and  Opera,"  Vol.  II  (The  Boston  Book  Company). 


CHAPTER    XI 

CONCERNING  MELODRAMA 

THE  use  of  the  term  melodrama  has  undergone  many  changes, 
and  it  is  a  question  whether  at  the  present  moment  it  is 
not  being  subjected  to  another  modification  or  crucial  shift 
ing  of  the  point  of  view.  Such  a  bastard  form  of  art  has  it 
been  regarded  by  the  majority  of  theatre-goers,  that  one 
has  lost  sight  of  its  origin  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and  of 
the  romantic  stock  from  which  it  sprang.  The  term  melo 
drama  or  melodramatic,  as  applied  to  a  play,  is  popularly 
looked  upon  as  a  sign  of  condemnation,  yet  if  we  consider 
the  essential  ingredients  for  a  moment,  we  will  see  that  the 
melodrama  itself  is  not  the  thing  to  be  condemned,  but  rather 
the  special  form  in  which  it  is  expressed. 

The  historical  side  of  the  subject  has  received  scant  atten 
tion  from  the  scholar.  While  in  general  we  are  told  that 
Ottavio  Rinuccini  toward  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century 
invented  the  term  melodrama,  from  the  Greek  words  meaning 
melody  and  action,  and  while  we  are  given  to  understand 
that  in  its  application  it  related  entirely  to  opera,  Jean 
Jacques  Rousseau  having  written  his  "Pygmalion"  for 
instrumental  music;  still  a  scholar  has  yet  to  unravel  its 
development  from  the  intricacies  of  the  romantic  period, 
which  swept  through  Italy  and  France  and  thence  to  Eng 
land.  It  is  hardly  conceivable  that  the  music  written  by 
Beethoven  for  "Egmont,"  or  by  Massenet  for  "Phedre," 
should  be  classed  in  the  same  genre  as  "  Nellie,  the  Beautiful 


CONCERNING  MELODRAMA  187 

Cloak  Model"  or  "Convict  999;"  l  yet  such  is  the  case,  and 
from  such  a  loose  application  of  the  term  there  has  arisen 
a  misunderstanding  as  to  the  true  elements  in  melodrama. 

Analyzing  the  relation  between  music  and  drama,  we  note 
the  point  from  which  melodrama  might  be  said  to  start. 
Always  the  highest  moments  in  an  opera,  the  most  brilliant 
moments,  are  those  which  involve  the  characteristic  elements 
of  a  glaring  play.  The  characters  sing  longest  when  they 
are  dying,  they  boast  loudest  in  the  most  pronounced  arias 
of  the  score;  their  actions  are  broad  and  lack  subtlety,  a 
subtlety  which  is  dependent  more  upon  the  music  than  upon 
the  play.  Possibly  it  is  because  the  musician  has  instinctively 
realized  that  the  moments  of  greatest  music  are  the  moments 
of  greatest  human  suffering;  and  undoubtedly  the  melo- 
dramatist  of  to-day  has  grasped  this  fact,  and  is  working  it  for 
all  it  is  worth.  Take  away  from  our  operas  the  orchestration, 
and  the  plots  will  be  little  more  than  out  and  out  melodrama. 

The  student  of  the  theatre  will  some  day,  in  dealing  with 
this  subject  of  melodrama,  be  forced  to  disentangle  its 
beginnings  from  the  most  heightened  creations  of  the  roman 
tic  period.  He  will  not  disdain  to  connect  this  genre  of  play- 
writing  with  that  struggle  which  went  on  between  the  classic 
spirit  and  the  romantic  spirit,  and  which  finally  resulted 
in  the  victory  of  the  latter,  when  Victor  Hugo,  in  1830, 
published  "Hernani."  It  was  the  same  struggle  which  had 
commenced  in  France  when  the  Academicians,  Boileau  and 
Charles  Perrault,  became  so  deeply  involved  in  a  quarrel 
resulting  in  petty  innuendoes  and  personal  thrusts. 

Practically  the  same  result  was  accomplished  in  England 

1  The  methods  of  advertising  melodrama  are  unique.  When 
"Convict  999"  was  first  produced,  three  men  in  stripes,  and  chained 
together,  tramped  the  streets  of  New  York.  The  managers  of 
"Tony,  the  Bootblack"  sent  three  boys  through  certain  sections  of 
the  city,  giving  free  shines  to  all  holders  of  tickets  for  "the  show." 


188  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

as  Dutton  Cook  claims  was  effected  in  France.  For,  to 
quote  the  latter:  "Schlegel,  writing  early  in  the  century, 
notes  that  dramatic  poetry  in  Paris  possessed  a  certain 
point  of  contact  with  the  police,  and  that  the  restrictions 
placed  upon  the  leading  theatres  banished  to  the  minor  stages 
all  new  and  mixed  attempts  at  histrionic  entertainment." 

The  history  of  melodrama  in  England  began  in  1802, 
when  Holcroft  adapted  a  French  manuscript  which  he  called 
"A  Tale  of  Mystery."  And  at  this  early  period  it  is  inter 
esting  to  note  the  popular  conception  of  the  origin  of  the 
term  melodrama,  as  conceived  by  the  son  of  Harris,  the 
manager  of  Covent  Garden.  He  wrote  to  Frederick  Reynolds 
from  Paris  regarding  the  peculiar  type  of  plays  which  were 
classed  under  a  name  derived  from  the  two  words  meler 
and  drame.1 

Up  to  the  time  of  the  advent  of  the  Dion  Boucicault 
sensationalism,  for  he  may  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  first 
to  combine  the  excess  of  situation  with  the  excess  of  stage 
mechanism,  melodrama  might  be  said  to  have  become  almost 
conventional  in  its  adherence  to  a  species  of  foreign  brigand 
literature.  There  was  not  very  much  desire  to  accentuate 
the  events  of  everyday  life,  but,  adhering  to  the  stereotyped 
romantic  passions  and  situations  of  the  Radcliffe  school  of 
novels,  the  melodramatist  of  this  earlier  period  wrote  more 
in  the  tone  of  the  opera  librettist  than  of  the  dramatist. 
The  history  of  melodrama  in  this  country,  to  within  recent 
years,  is  practically  the  same  as  that  of  England,  and  the 
two  may  be  said  to  have  been  dependent  upon  French  sources. 
In  the  period  of  1860,  America  was  inundated  with  a  type 
of  "dime  novel"  story,  which  spread  from  ocean  to  ocean, 
affecting  literature  for  growing  boys,  and  likewise  afford 
ing  a  new  impetus  to  melodrama.  For  about  this  time, 

1  Gr.  melos,  song,  +  drama (t-),  <  drao,  perform. 


Photo,  by  Sarony 


DION  BOUCICAULT 


CONCERNING  MELODRAMA  189 

as  we  have  said  before,  Mr.  Belasco  was  enjoying  such  a 
glaring  piece  as  "The  Idiot  Boy  of  the  Rocky  Mountains;" 
and  when  he  reached  the  East,  he  found  that  Mr.  Daly  had 
made  a  success  with  a  melodrama  of  that  section,  entitled 
"Under  the  Gaslight."  The  type  of  play  such  as  "The 
Two  Orphans,"  which  is  in  its  essentials  nothing  but  a  melo 
drama,  could  not  long  survive  the  reaction  which  in  drama 
was  now  to  take  place.  There  is  no  doubt  that,  even  as 
Pinero  and  Jones  were  to  break  from  Robertson  and  Taylor, 
and  realism  was  to  usurp  the  boards,  so  melodrama  would 
likewise  be  affected  by  this  very  realism.  The  ingredients 
have  always  been  the  same,  but  the  objective  point  of  view 
was  obliged  to  undergo  material  alteration  with  the  change 
of  conditions.  The  present-day  melodrama,  which  is  better 
named  sensational  drama,  has  been  materially  affected  by 
those  forces  which  have  been  detected  behind  yellow  journal 
ism. 

Let  us  get  clearly  in  mind  the  characteristics  marking 
melodrama.  The  dominant  feature  is  situation ;  the  broadest 
results  of  the  very  broadest  and  most  elemental  emotions. 
Mr.  Walkley  has  expressed  it  by  saying  that  there  are  two 
sides  of  a  criminal,  the  outside  and  the  inside,  melodrama 
usually  dealing  with  the  former,  whereas  the  novelist  would 
search  for  the  conditions  resulting  in  the  existence  of  the 
criminal.  These  two  sides  are  in  substance  the  distinctive 
difference  between  present-day  melodrama  and  present- 
day  fiction. 

The  old  English  and  French  miracle  plays  had  in  them  all 
the  essentials  of  this  glaring  stage  type.  The  manner  in 
which  the  miracle  of  "St.  Nicholas  and  the  Thieves"  was 
presented,  the  careful  delineation  of  Hellmouth,  with  the 
Devil  and  his  demons  rushing  up  and  down  the  aisles  of  the 
church,  appealed  to  the  same  instincts  in  the  mass  of  medi 
aeval  people,  that  the  broad  glorification  of  good  and  the  met- 


190  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

ing  of  punishment  do  to  the  people  of  to-day.  Fitzball,  who 
was  considered  one  of  the  most  productive  melodramatists 
of  the  early  nineteenth  century  in  England,  heard  Sheridan 
Knowles  proclaim  that  he  considered  "Macbeth"  one  of  the 
finest  melodramas  he  had  ever  seen;  and  there  is  undoubted 
truth  in  what  he  said.  Perhaps  he  asserted  this  as  a  defense 
of  his  own  play,  "The  Hunchback"  —  which  itself  belongs 
to  this  class  of  drama.  But  even  at  that  early  day  the  term 
had  been  so  misused  and  the  species  had  so  broadened,  freed 
from  the  narrow  restrictions  of  the  patent  theatres  of  Lon 
don,  that  Douglas  Jerrold,  in  his  report  before  the  Parlia 
mentary  Commission  of  1832,  appointed  to  examine  into 
the  status  of  the  London  theatres,  inadvertently  invented 
a  new  term,  which  is  familiar  to  us  to-day  as  the  legitimate 
drama,  and  which  he  pitted  against  this  other  form.  Not 
only  did  he  deplore  the  over-accentuation  of  the  physical 
result  to  the  detriment  of  the  mental  cause  in  melodrama, 
but  Macready  likewise  regarded  the  sensational  with  such 
disfavor  that  his  contracts  stipulated  he  should  be  given 
no  part  partaking  of  a  melodramatic  character. 

Up  to  this  time  melodrama,  which  is  not  only  a  legitimate 
type,  but  also  a  dominant  characteristic  of  our  American 
life,  has  run  wild.  The  writer  of  melodrama  has  misinter 
preted  his  license,  and  the  lovers  of  the  melodramatic  are 
being  sated  with  a  succession  of  situations  and  a  minimum 
of  plot.  One  of  the  most  successful  playwrights  of  this  type 
of  piece  is  Owen  Davis,  the  author  of  "The  Confessions  of 
a  Wife"  —  which  is  distinctive  from  his  other  plays  by  the 
fact  that  it  calls  for  no  "guns,"  to  use  a  professional  term,  — 
"Nellie,  the  Beautiful  Cloak  Model"  and  "Convict  999." 
He  has  declared  that  a  certain  reaction  is  about  to  take 
place  in  this  indiscriminate  use  of  situation  for  situation's 
sake;  that  his  audiences  are  now  beginning  to  see  the  im 
probability  of  so  many  hairbreadth  escapes  occurring  in 


CONCERNING  MELODRAMA  191 

the  life  of  any  human  being  within  the  three  hours'  traffic 
of  the  stage.  The  public  libraries  are  improving  the  taste 
of  the  public.  So  that  from  excess  we  are  forced  to  return  to 
consistency. 

Only  a  hairline  separates  the  emotion  of  Broadway  from 
that  of  the  Bowery.  Mr.  Gillette's  "Sherlock  Holmes"  was 
nothing  more  than  a  "thriller/*  acted  with  a  certain  refine 
ment  and  a  certain  reserve;  which  characteristics  are  usually 
avoided  by  the  manager  of  melodrama.  Not  only  has  the 
sensational  play  taken  unto  itself  a  certain  formula  by  which 
virtue  and  villainy  are  expressed,  but  it  likewise  requires 
a  diction  which  is  excessive  in  its  accentuation. 

When  all  is  told,  therefore,  the  difference  between  the 
legitimate  theatre  and  melodrama  lies  in  this  matter  of 
accentuation.  Bartley  Campbell's  "My  Partner,"  Lester 
Wallack's  "Rosedale,"  "The  White  Heather,"  Jones's  "The 
Silver  King,"  "The  Ticket-of-Leave  Man,"  C.  M.  S.  McLel- 
lan's  "  LeahKleschna,"  and  "  The  Great  Ruby"  are  accounted 
melodramas  of  the  old  school,  containing  all  the  distorted 
actions  and  passions  of  the  present  type,  but  differing  from 
the  present  type,  inasmuch  as  the  stories  were  consistent 
and  the  characterizations  human.  Despite  the  sensational 
ism  in  Dion  Boucicault,  the  genial  Irish  atmosphere  was 
dominant,  and  the  heart  interest  was  so  romantic  as  to  cover 
the  daring  ventures  with  the  gloss  of  possibility.  Now, 
however,  such  writers  of  melodrama  as  Owen  Davis  and 
Theodore  Kremer  have  discarded  the  intermediate  develop 
ment  between  the  glaring  situations,  and  are  dealing  wholly 
with  the  situations  themselves,  one  after  the  other,  irrespec 
tive  of  their  possibility  in  life,  and  with  the  sole  intention 
of  deadening  the  logical  sense  of  the  spectator  with  sensa 
tionalism. 

Mr.  Davis  is  a  Harvard  graduate,  and  was  drawn  into 
writing  such  plays  as  "Tony,  the  Bootblack"  and  "Nellie, 


192  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

the  Beautiful  Cloak  Model"  by  his  association  with  "The 
Great  Ruby"  company.  He  thought  he  could  write  just 
as  clever  a  story  for  the  stage,  and  so  he  began  then  and 
there,  acting  meanwhile,  until  he  gained  a  footing  as  one 
of  the  principal  manufacturers  of  the  sensational  play.  He 
recognized  the  legitimate  side  of  melodrama,  he  deplored 
the  piling  up  of  catastrophe  upon  catastrophe,  he  saw  the 
bathos  in  the  formula  which  states  that  the  play  ends  only 
when  every  possible  calamity  has  been  exhausted.  Mr. 
Davis  was  what  one  might  call  a  student  of  his  particular 
field.  He  understood  his  public,  which  in  matter  of  taste  is 
of  the  Laura  Jean  Libbey  class.  He  knew  wherein  this  pub 
lic  was  credulous,  —  the  point  of  appeal  in  its  sentimental 
make-up.  His  audiences  would  not  countenance  the  regen 
eration  of  a  stage  bad  man;  they  must  have  the  victory 
of  virtue  and  the  happy  ending;  the  good  must  be  rewarded 
suddenly,  the  bad  must  be  punished  lingeringly.  : 

Mr.  Davis  has  now  deserted  the  realm  of  the  sensational 
for  that  of  the  legitimate,  but  in  doing  so  he  has  not  forgotten 
the  measure  of  that  public  to  which  he  used  to  make  appeal. 
In  an  interview,  he  has  epitomized  the  characteristics  of 
melodrama  in  this  manner: 

"On  Third  Avenue  the  treatment  is  different.  Instead 
of  avoiding  the  obvious  you  must  insist  upon  it  first,  last 
and  all  the  time.  You  must  move  up  the  ascending  scale  of 
emotions  with  directness.  Your  hero  must  be  labeled  at 
his  first  entrance.  Nothing  must  be  left  to  inference.  It 
is  almost  indispensable  that  he  knock  down  the  villain  in 
the  first  two  minutes  following  his  entrance.  In  the  same 
easy  way  your  comedian  must  get  a  laugh  as  he  comes  on. 
Instead  of  having  your  heroine  pursued  by  some  ab 
stract  thing  such  as  fate,  you  must  have  her  pursued  by  a 
tangible  villain  bent  upon  cutting  her  throat.  You  must 
pile  catastrophe  upon  catastrophe.  By  the  time  the  hero 


CONCERNING  MELODRAMA  193 

throws  his  protecting  arms  around  her  in  the  last  act,  she 
must  have  narrowly  escaped  scalping  by  Indians,  been 
almost  drowned  in  a  mill-race,  missed  death  in  a  train  wreck, 
and  been  shot  at  and  stabbed  by  the  villain,  to  say  nothing 
of  having  passed  unscathed  through  several  conflagrations, 
an  earthquake  or  two,  a  mine  cave-in,  or  a  magazine  ex 
plosion.  The  play  only  ends  when  you  have  exhausted 
every  possible  calamity,  but  it  ends  happily;  it  must  end 
happily.  And  the  hero  must  remain  the  hero,  and  the  vil 
lain  must  die  as  black  as  when  he  first  came  on.  I  know, 
because  I  have  tried.  The  public  has  no  faith  in  the  regen 
eration  of  the  stage  bad  man.  He  is  there  as  the  symbol  of 
everything  that 's  bad,  and  by  the  fourth  act  he  has  com 
mitted  every  crime  possible.  The  audience  does  n't  want 
him  to  repent  and  get  away  free.  He  must  be  killed  linger- 
ingly,  if  possible.  Right  must  triumph  and  wrong  must  be 
punished.  That  is  one  of  the  fundamental  principles  of  the 
so-called  cheap  drama. 

"  In  that  particular  the  cheap  drama  is  a  power  for  good 
and  a  moralizing  force  of  no  little  value.  Our  heroics  are 
mock  heroics,  perhaps,  but  they  have  a  salutary  effect  never 
theless.  The  lowly  laborer  who  lives  a  life  of  squalor  in 
the  back  room  of  a  tenement,  when  he  hears  the  hero  declare 
that  he  would  rather  die  than  steal,  may  come  to  think  that, 
after  all,  this  is  the  sort  of  morality  that  suits  him  too. 

"  Speaking  only  of  my  own  plays,  I  dare  say  that  I  have 
addressed  each  season  an  audience  numbering  upward  of 
seven  million  people.  I  have  had  eighteen  plays  on  the 
road  at  a  time,  and  about  ninety  in  stock.  In  every  one  of 
my  pieces  there  is  some  wholesome  truth,  some  good  moral 
precept  advanced,  and  yet  almost  invariably  the  attitude 
maintained  by  the  press  toward  these  plays  is  one  of  gentle 
derision.  Serious  criticism  of  them  is  never  attempted.  The 
one  reason  why  newspaper  men  are  sent  to  cover  them  is  to 


194  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

poke  fun  at  them  the  next  day.  They  furnish  the  basis  for 
funny  stories,  nothing  else.  Personally,  I  don't  see  any 
fairness  in  this.  Certain  papers  which  I  need  not  mention 
make  special  effort  to  catch  the  proletariat  by  writing  down 
their  editorials  to  the  mental  level  and  understanding  of  the 
illiterate,  prosaic,  unlettered,  uncultured  classes,  and  then 
turn  right  about  to  another  column  and  assume  the  superior 
and  high-art  tone  in  discussing  the  plays  which  these  same 
people  go  to  see." 

And  should  we  ask  Mr.  Davis  to  outline  the  formula  for 
us  succinctly,  he  would  say  that  his  audiences  never  take 
things  for  granted.  You  must  emphasize  for  them  that  a 
certain  event  is  going  to  happen,  that  it  is  happening,  and 
that  it  has  happened;  three  times  each  point  must  be  driven 
home.  Humanity  being  the  keynote,  the  ten-  and  twenty  - 
and  thirty-cent  theatre-goer  must  have  action  laid  on  in  large 
sweeps.  The  emotions  must  not  be  subtle;  they  must  ascend 
toward  the  climax,  not  in  flowing  consistency,  but  with  inter 
mittent  thumps.  The  formula  exacts  that  the  heroine  must 
be  as  young  and  fresh  after  twenty  hairbreadth  escapes  as 
though  she  were  attending  a  garden  party.  Yet  from  the 
technical  side,  Mr.  Davis's  ingenuity  is  striking.  He  wrote 
the  dialogue  for  and  planned  the  staging  of  "The  Siege  of 
Port  Arthur"  for  the  Hippodrome,  and  certain  striking  ele 
ments  therein  he  transferred  to  his  own  melodrama,  "  Convict 
999."  l  He  has  written  so  many  melodramas  of  the  con 
ventional  type,  he  has  studied  the  situation  so  thoroughly, 
that  he  is  able  to  tell  exactly  in  what  respects  the  next  change 
in  melodrama  will  be  revealed.  Although  his  "Gambler 
of  the  West,"  his  "Broadway  after  Dark,"  his  "Chinatown 

1  Other  plays  by  Mr.  Davis  are:  "On  Trial  for  his  Life,"  "The 
Crooked  Path,"  "The  Prince  of  Spendthrifts,"  "The  Millionaire 
and  the  Circus  Rider,"  "Jack  Sheppard,  the  Bandit  King,"  and 
"The  King  and  Queen  of  Gamblers." 


CONCERNING  MELODRAMA  195 

Charlie,"  and  his  "Creole  Slave's  Revenge"  are  sure  of  a 
hearing  from  his  particular  following,  he  recognizes  that 
this  following  is  becoming  sated,  that  their  acceptance  is 
being  turned  into  incredulity,  that  they  are  being  educated 
away  from  the  old  order  and  nearer  the  legitimate  realm  of 
melodrama. 

In  this  respect,  it  may  be  noted  that  A.  H.  Woods,  one 
of  the  largest  managers  of  melodrama  in  America,  is  himself 
being  involved  in  this  change.  For  while  he  has  been  the 
means  of  encouraging  the  thriller  of  the  present,  he  likewise, 
as  a  manager,  has  been  drawn  nearer  to  the  legitimate  drama; 
and  a  reaction  is  likewise  occurring  in  his  own  attitude  toward 
this  particular  theatre  which  has  made  him  a  fortune.  Where 
as  heretofore  he  would  have  discountenanced  any  attempt 
on  the  part  of  Owen  Davis  or  Theodore  Kremer,  of  John 
Oliver  or  of  the  other  countless  writers  of  melodrama  to 
use  any  subtle  methods  in  depicting  emotion,  in  treating 
consistent  sequence  of  cause  and  effect,  he  is  now  himself 
becoming  critical  of  the  sensationalism  of  the  past.  Just 
so  soon  as  Mr.  Woods  goes  over  the  line  which  separates  the 
melodramatic  syndicate  from  the  theatrical  trust,  just  so 
soon  will  the  new  departure  in  melodrama  occur.1  Then 
will  Mr.  Davis  be  able  to  put  into  practice  his  greatest  hopes, 
and,  provided  his  sense  of  proportion  is  not  atrophied,  he 
will  be  able  to  satisfy  his  own  ambitions. 

Mr.  Theodore  Kremer  likewise  shows  the  same  dissatis 
faction  over  being  forced  to  produce  such  dramas  as  "  Bertha, 
the  Sewing  Machine  Girl,"  "Fast  Life  in  New  York,"  "The 
Fatal  Wedding,"  and  "The  King  of  Bigamists."  He  out 
lines  the  melodramatic  formula  in  this  way :  "  My  audiences 
are  all  from  Missouri;  they  want  to  be  shown;  unless  you 
show  them  first  they  will  not  believe.  In  the  play  now  being 

1  Since  this  writing,  Mr.  Woods  has  gone  over  the  line  in  "The 
Girl  and  the  Taxi,"  a  piece  full  of  dull  vulgarity. 


196  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

acted  by  Miss  Ethel  Barrymore  ['Her  Sister'],  it  is  made 
clear  during  the  conversation  that  the  fortune-teller  and 
the  young  man  to  whom  she  is  engaged  first  met  in  a  train. 
Now  it  is  all  right  for  the  Broadway  audiences  to  hear  that 
the  two  met  in  a  train,  but  the  Eighth  Avenue  audiences 
have  to  be  shown  the  train  and  the  meeting.  Instead  of 
beginning  the  acquaintance  by  having  him  hand  her  a  paper, 
he  would  —  to  please  my  theatre  goers  —  have  to  fling  the 
paper  in  her  face.  She  would  be  insulted  and  address  him, 
'Sir!'  Then  he  would  apologize,  the  acquaintance  would 
begin,  and  it  could  then  ripen  into  love,  but  not  before.  And 
in  the  first  act  of  the  play  the  fortune-teller  would  have  to 
be  shot  on  to  the  stage  out  of  a  trap-door." 

Mr.  Kremer  was  once  regarded  as  the  Clyde  Fitch  of 
melodrama,  even  as  Owen  Davis  usurped  the  title  of 
Augustus  Thomas ;  and  should  one  examine  the  manuscripts 
of  each,  this  distinction  might  be  readily  seen,  for  Mr.  Davis's 
sensationalism  is  fraught  with  the  vigor  of  the  masculine, 
whereas  Mr.  Kremer  usually  deals  with  the  feminine.1  Yet 
despite  this  sex  view-point,  their  plays  are  worked  absolutely 
upon  the  same  lines;  their  heroes,  their  heroines,  their 
villains,  their  inconsistencies,  their  colloquial  humor,  their 
virtues  which  obtrude  to  such  a  degree  as  to  lack  virtue, 
their  seriousness  which  is  so  pronounced  as  to  be  humorous, 
are  all  of  the  same  color.  They  write  their  plays  according 
to  a  formula  decided  upon  between  themselves  and  their 
manager.  The  bill-board  posters  are  drawn  a  long  while 
before  pen  is  even  put  to  paper.  The  trap-doors,  the  bridges 
which  are  to  be  blown  up,  the  walls  which  are  to  be  scaled, 
the  instruments  of  torture  for  the  persecuted  heroines,  the 

1  Other  writers  of  melodrama  are  John  Oliver,  Hal  Reid,  Lem 
B.  Parker,  William  L.  Roberts,  Joseph  B.  Totten,  Joseph  Le  Brandt, 
and  Langdon  McCormack.  Al  Woods  is  taken  as  the  typical  pro 
ducer  of  melodramas;  there  were  others. 


CONCERNING  MELODRAMA  197 

freight  elevators  which  are  to  crush  out  the  lives  of  deserving 
characters,  the  elevated  trains  which  are  to  rush  upon  the 
prostrate  forms  of  gagged  and  insensible  girls,  —  all  these 
melodramatic  accessories  are  determined  upon  before  the 
manuscript  takes  shape.  In  fact,  there  is  little  shaping 
done  after  the  situations  are  decided  upon.  The  only  thing 
left  for  the  dramatist  is  to  fill  up  the  gaps  with  conversations 
which  lead,  however  irrelevantly,  to  the  situations  them 
selves.  Herein  are  to  be  found  those  elements  of  melodrama 
which  are  finally  to  be  the  cause  of  its  own  undoing.  For 
the  masses  are  being  better  educated,  are  —  because  of  the 
general  interest  in  drama  —  coming  under  influences  which 
raise  their  standards  of  living  and  soften  their  ideals.  One 
cannot  fool  the  public  all  the  time  at  the  theatre,  even  though 
it  be  on  Eighth  Avenue  or  on  the  Bowery.  They  have  been 
fooled  once,  twice,  thrice;  and  soon  they  will  reach  the 
point  where  the  manager  of  melodrama  will  in  turn  find 
himself  fooled.  That  is  the  hope  of  the  legitimate  melo 
drama.  Besides  which,  those  audiences  once  sated  with 
such  acting  now  find  their  tastes  gratified  by  the  moving 
picture  which  has  to  accentuate  action  in  order  to  be  seen. 

It  is  hard  to  analyze  any  of  the  plays  representing  this 
peculiar  type.  The  newspaper  accidents,  murders,  intrigues, 
the  electrical  and  mechanical  marvels  of  the  age,  are  all 
used.  There  is  the  conventional  drunkard  who  maltreats 
the  conventional  cripple;  there  is  the  one  character  from 
whom  all  humor  flows,  a  convention  which  marks  the  Yid 
dish  stage  as  well.  The  hero,  in  the  course  of  his  progress 
along  the  path  of  love,  disguises  himself  a  thousand  and  one 
times;  and  the  grand  finale  usually  comes  with  the  arrival 
of  a  man-of-war,  or  the  rushing  on  of  soldiers.  You  cannot 
outline  the  plot;  you  can  only  enumerate  the  situations. 

It  is  said  that  yellow  journalism  is  dependent  not  so  much 
upon  the  manner  in  which  a  leading  article  is  written,  as  on 


198  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

the  style  in  which  the  type  is  set  and  the  manner  in  which 
the  pictures  are  drawn. 

This  perhaps  might  likewise  be  claimed  for  melodrama. 
Once  win  a  bad  name,  and  it  is  hard  to  escape  it.  In  Mr. 
Belasco's"  The  Girl  of  the  Golden  West"  the  wounded  hero 
is  hidden  by  the  girl  from  the  pursuing  Sheriff,  and  from 
where  he  lies  in  the  rafters  of  the  room,  blood  drips  upon  the 
floor  beneath.  Had  Mr.  Kremer  been  the  author  of  this 
piece,  one  would  have  smiled  at  it.  But  the  two-dollar  audi 
ences  accepted  it  because  it  was  Mr.  Belasco.  However, 
the  difference  between  "The  Girl  of  the  Golden  West," 
softened  by  some  attempt  at  subdued  acting,  and  "The 
Girl  of  the  Golden  West"  as  it  might  have  been  given  on  the 
Bowery  or  Eighth  Avenue,  would  lie  wholly  in  the  matter 
of  accentuation. 

Undoubtedly  the  melodrama  of  to-day  differs  from  the 
melodrama  of  yesterday;  and  that  it  has  fallen  into  dis 
favor  is  due  solely  to  the  fact  that  its  essential  characteristics 
have  been  misused.  This  does  not  mean  that  the  character 
istics,  per  se,  are  not  healthy  and  dramatic.  The  melodrama 
of  to-morrow  will  show  an  increased  consistency  on  the  part 
of  the  dramatist,  and  will  indicate  a  corresponding  improve 
ment  in  the  tastes  of  those  audiences  which  are  now  stigma 
tized  as  a  class,  but  which  differ  essentially  from  the  legiti 
mate  audiences  only  in  the  fact  that  one  pays  twenty-five 
cents  JOT  a  seat  while  the  other  pays  two  dollars. 

NOTE 

On  the  subject  of  melodrama,  the  reader  is  referred  to  the  fol 
lowing: 

"Old  Melodrama."    H.  D.  Baker.    Bclgra.,  50:331-39,  1883. 
"Possibilities  of  Melodrama."     Spec.,  56:1691. 
"  Melodrama."    Att  the  Year,  41 :436. 
" Melodrama."     See  Price's  "Technique  of  the  Drama." 
"Melodrama."    Harry  James  Smith.     Atlantic,  March,  1907. 


CONCERNING  MELODRAMA  199 

"Melodrama."     Diccionario      Enciclopedico      Hispano-Americano 

de  Literatura,  Ciencias  y  Artes. 
"The  Taint  of  Melodrama  and  some  Recent  Books."    F.  T.  Cooper. 

Bookman,  22:630-35,  Feb.,  1906. 

"Melodrama."     Button  Cook.     "On  the  Stage,"  2:190. 
"Melodrama."     A.  B.  Walkley.     "Playhouse,"  170. 
"Melodrama."     International.    Dodd,  Mead. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   KINETOSCOPIC   THEATRE 


THE  kinetoscopic  theatre  is  at  the  parting  of  the  ways.  The 
crucial  point  has  arrived  when  it  shall  either  be  a  great  suc 
cess  or  an  absolute  failure.  In  New  York  alone,  people  have 
been  flocking  through  the  gaudy,  blatant  entrances  at  the 
rate  of  two  hundred  thousand  a  week.  In  eighteen  minutes 
they  have  been  given  a  production  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet" 
or  of  "Othello"  or  of  "Francesca  da  Rimini,"  and  they  have 
gone  out,  only  to  be  superseded  by  a  crowd  as  big  and  just 
as  eager.  The  manager  of  the  mechanical  "show"  measures 
his  profit  by  the  rapidity  with  which  he  turns  out  one  audi 
ence  and  gathers  in  another. 

The  kinetoscopic  theatre,  however,  is  a  factor  to  be  reck 
oned  with.  It  may  be  made  a  source  of  good  or  a  source  of 
evil.  It  has  built  up  a  business  which  has  its  problems  similar 
to  those  confronting  the  theatre  managers.  It  requires  for 
its  success  an  intelligent  handling  on  the  part  of  the  manu 
facturer  of  the  pictures,  of  the  middleman,  and  of  the  show 
man.  Unfortunately,  with  the  rapid  increase  of  the  business, 
this  careful  thought  is  lacking.  Where  a  manufacturing 
firm  turns  out  nearly  two  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  feet 
of  film  a  day,  it  is  natural  that  much  of  the  material  should 
be  of  inferior  quality.  There  is  ample  room  for  the  kineto 
scopic  dramatist. 

The  kinetoscopic  theatre  audience  speaks  in  terms  of 


THE  KINETOSCOPIC  THEATRE          201 

minutes  and  miles.  When  it  goes  to  see  "  Othello,"  it  ex 
pects  to  grasp  the  story  in  seventeen  minutes.  The  actors 
who  are  employed  to  perform  a  play  before  the  camera 
interpret  their  roles  in  terms  of  large  gestures,  of  abnormal 
facial  expression,  and  of  excessive  passion.  Not  so  very 
long  ago  a  stock  company  in  New  England  was  employed 
by  one  of  the  kinetoscopic  companies  to  play  for  them  the 
first  act  of  Belasco's  version  of  "Zaza."  Ordinarily,  this 
takes  from  forty-five  to  fifty  minutes  for  actual  performance, 
but  the  company  ran  through  all  the  "business"  in  fifteen 
minutes.  This  might  be  called  strenuous  acting  in  a  mechan 
ical  age.  Instead  of  having  to  pay  actors  for  performing 
"  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  the  manager  of  the  nickelodeon  has  to 
pay  for  the  use  of  his  films  by  the  week,  being  charged  ac 
cording  to  the  number  of  feet  used  in  telling  the  story.  For 
example,  the  film  of  Boker's  "Francesca  da  Rimini,"  em 
bracing  seven  scenes,  has  a  length  of  990  feet,  "  Romeo  and 
Juliet"  915  feet,  and  "Macbeth"  835  feet.  A  time  will 
come,  therefore,  when  drama  for  the  kinetoscope  audiences 
will  literally  be  measured  by  the  mile. 

The  five-  and  ten-cent  theatres  sell  their  tickets  as  the 
drug  stores  dispose  of  their  soda  checks,  in  long  rolls.  Un 
fortunately  for  the  business,  there  are  many  sections  of  every 
large  city  where  two  or  three  such  theatres  are  found  in  one 
block,  following  the  example  of  the  saloon.  Competition 
is  healthy,  but  such  wildcat  speculation  is  ruinous  to  the 
small  manager.  He  thinks  that  to  have  his  machine  and  to 
rent  his  films  are  sufficient.  He  does  not  calculate  upon 
whether  or  not  the  location  is  good;  he  does  not  plan  how 
to  manage  his  audiences ;  he  believes  —  judging  by  the 
profits  that  others  have  made  —  that  the  show  will  run 
itself,  whereas  it  is  subject  to  the  same  rules  as  other  busi 
nesses.  The  average  exhibitor  of  moving-pictures  must 
either  show  brains  —  which  he  is  not  doing  —  or  else  go 


202  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

under.  Though  his  outfit  may  be  mechanical,  his  audience 
is  not;  the  people  have  definite  tastes  regarding  what  they 
see,  and  the  exhibitor,  the  manufacturer,  and  the  renter 
must  watch  this  public  in  order  to  sound  its  varying  desires. 

It  is  only  a  question  of  time  before  the  nickelodeon  is 
improved:  either  the  wildcat  manager  will  be  forced  out 
of  business,  or  he  will  have  to  conform  to  better  methods. 
A  failure  to-day  in  the  moving-picture  business  means  that 
the  man  who  owns  the  business  has  no  brains,  and  does  not 
know  the  people  of  the  locality  in  which  he  works.  For, 
after  all,  the  success  of  the  nickelodeon  represents  so  much 
human  response. 

Usually,  the  frequenters  of  these  cheap  places  are  those 
who  cannot  afford  more  expensive  pleasures;  those  who 
gather  around  the  white  tin  entrances  with  their  glaring 
posters  are  most  likely  children  who  cannot  even  afford 
five-cent  luxuries.  These  waifs  are  kept  at  bay  by  a  man 
flourishing  a  cane.  Sometimes,  when  business  is  slack, 
children  are  invited  in  to  help  keep  up  appearances. 

There  is  much  to  Jbe  said  for  and  against  the  moving- 
picture.  Judiciously  used,  it  could  be  educational,  but  at 
best  it  is  mechanical,  it  lacks  individuality;  this  must  be 
kept  in  mind.  Its  usefulness  has  received  widespread 
recognition.  The  government  at  Washington  has  its  film 
department;  the  moving-picture  serves  as  record  for  military 
manoeuvres  and  naval  displays.  A  catalogue  records  the 
title  for  a  film  twenty-seven  feet  long :  "  A  German  Torpedo 
Flotilla  in  Action,"  taken  by  special  command  of  Kaiser 
Wilhelm.  In  New  York,  the  Museum  of  Natural  History 
is  experimenting  with  the  cinematograph,  picturing  the 
flight  of  birds,  the  habitat  of  bears. 

The  moving-picture  as  an  amusement  lacks  the  human 
element,  yet  the  response  it  creates  is  human.  It  can  never 
be  art;  it  can  only  be  a  representation  of  art,  and  as  such 


THE  KINETOSCOPIC  THEATRE          203 

it  must  be  directed.  The  Victor  talking  machines  have 
ground  forth  the  speeches  of  Taft  and  of  Bryan;  the  bio- 
graph  has  projected  the  motion  of  the  National  Conven 
tions.  Bring  the  phonograph  and  the  biograph  together, 
and  still  the  live  element  is  absent.  For  this  reason  it  is  one 
of  the  greatest  enemies  to  the  theatre,  which  is  a  live  insti 
tution,  presenting  plays  in  human  fashion. 

At  best  the  nickelodeon  audiences  are  casual  groups :  they 
are  not  held  together  by  any  effective  bond  of  common 
interest  or  large  idea.  Their  drama  is  told  in  seeable  action, 
and  there  is  little  or  no  time  spent  on  other  than  elemental 
idea  or  sentiment.  That  is  a  danger  which  only  an  educa 
tional  grip  of  the  situation  could  stop.  But  the  boys  and 
girls  of  the  tenements,  their  mothers  and  fathers,  go  of  an 
evening  because  the  diversion  is  stimulating  without  effort, 
even  though  there  is  a  strain  upon  the  eyes. 

The  manufacturer  of  mechanical  music,  of  mechanical 
drama,  has  an  ethical  responsibility.  It  lies  between  points 
admirably  indicated  by  two  scenes  which  are  uppermost  in 
my  mind.  One  Sunday  morning,  in  the  Blue  Ridge  Moun 
tains,  overlooking  the  Shenandoah  Valley,  I  visited  a  cabin 
perched  above  a  forest  of  trees;  grandmother,  grandfather, 
mother  and  father,  son  and  daughter,  and  a  string  of  children 
sat  grouped  around  a  phonograph,  listening  to  some  country 
man  telling  his  comical  city  experiences.  Then  the  father, 
in  flannel  shirt  and  heavy  boots,  his  lined  and  roughened 
face  aglow  with  pleasure,  announced  that  a  church  choir 
would  sing  to  them.  Despite  the  grating  sound,  these 
simple  folk  sat  awed  by  the  beauty  of  the  quartette.  The 
manufacturers  measure  popular  taste  by  the  music  halls, 
and,  unfortunately,  not  by  the  native  temperament.1 

1  In  passing,  it  is  well  to  note  that  the  phonograph  is  now  being 
used  to  record  the  negro  folk-songs  and  the  tribal  chants  of 
Indians. 


204  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

The  other  picture  is  on  Avenue  C,  in  New  York,  in  a 
crowded  block,  where  people  must  elbow  their  way,  where 
there  is  never  quiet,  and  never  a  blade  of  grass.  The  Herr 
Professor  in  charge  of  one  of  these  houses  would  have  nature 
scenes  brought  from  the  topmost  mountain,  from  the  inner 
most  depth  of  the  American  forest,  to  offset  the  cramping 
city  view  of  tenement  upon  tenement.  Such  is  the  possi 
bility,  yet  such  is  not  the  accomplishment,  except  in  this 
one  instance.  The  moving-picture  business  needs  in 
telligent  guiding;  that  is  its  one  hope.  Otherwise,  it  be 
comes  a  menace,  socially,  morally,  and  ethically.  What  is 
now  urgent  is  to  prevent  the  vitiating  effect  of  undesirable 
performances.  The  nickelodeon  without  an  idea  behind  it  is 
a  menace  to  the  neighborhood.  The  idea  must  be  inserted, 
for  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  moving-picture  has  come  to 
stay.  The  visual  sense  must  be  supplemented  by  a  mental 
stimulus.  Intellectually,  the  five-cent  audience  is  worthy 
of  a  higher  form  of  amusement  than  the  moving-picture 
show  can  supply.  It  is  the  personality  of  its  manager,  with 
his  ideas  and  his  ideals,  that  raises  the  business  to  a  dif 
ferent  plane.  And  the  Herr  Professor,  with  his  educational 
aspirations  and  his  knowledge  of  what  the  people  like,  found 
that  being  a  conscientious  nickelodeon  manager  brought 
profit  in  more  ways  than  one. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  exhibitor  has  to  deal 
with  the  manufacturer  through  a  middleman.  There  is  a 
film  trust,  just  as  there  is  a  theatrical  trust,  and  the 
exhibitor  is  not  allowed  to  rent  directly  from  the  manu 
facturers.  There  are  two  dangers  consequent  upon  this 
arrangement.  The  exhibitor  often  has  no  choice  but  to  take 
what  the  renter  gives  him.  If  he  receives  a  good  subject 
one  day,  he  has  to  expect  a  poor,  a  sensational,  a  common 
subject  the  next.  This  would  be  obviated,  provided  the 
exhibitor  could  select  his  films  for  each  show  directly  from 


THE  KINETOSCOPIC  THEATRE          205 

the  manufacturer.  To  judge  by  investigations,  it  will  be 
found  that  the  exhibitor  has  not  yet  discovered  that  he  is 
not  obliged  to  take  what  he  does  not  wish.  The  trust  situ 
ation,  as  it  confronts  the  kinetoscope  business,  is  a  struggle 
carried  on  between  several  organized  manufacturers  on  the 
one  hand  and  a  number  of  independent  firms  on  the  other. 
The  exhibitor,  therefore,  has  reached  that  stage  when  he 
grabs  what  he  can  get.  A  censorship  bureau,  begun  in  New 
York,  but  of  wide  scope,  now  gives  better  advantages  to 
the  small  exhibitor,  inasmuch  as  by  its  actions  it  is  weeding 
out  that  which  will  be  harmful,  and  demanding  higher  grade 
films. 

II 

The  nickelodeon  theatre  has  its  press-agent,  and  this  press 
agent  has  his  particular  vocabulary,  filled  with  descriptive 
adjectives  that  express  motion.  The  Moving  Picture  World, 
devoted  to  the  interests  of  animated  photographs,  quotes 
a  sample  of  such  literature:  "To  hear  the  voice,  to  catch 
every  sound  and  intonation  of  every  word,  and  see  the  people 
in  life  size  moving  before  your  eyes,  and  yet  realise  there 
is  not  a  single  person  there  —  it  seems  like  some  phantom 
of  the  brain,  an  hallucination,  and  one  is  almost  tempted  to 
rush  to  the  stage  and  grapple  with  the  ghostly  actors  as  one 
is  moved  to  cry  out  in  the  vividness  of  a  dream." 

After  a  performance  is  completed,  the  audience  is  supposed 
to  pass  out.  In  some  places  the  management  delicately  re 
minds  them  of  this  fact  by  repeating  one  or  two  of  the  pictures 
previously  seen.  In  other  places,  however,  such  a  method 
is  entirely  too  subtle,  and  so  an  official,  known  as  "  the  chaser," 
proceeds  down  the  middle  aisle  doing  his  work.  Most  of 
the  theatres  are  managed  in  practically  the  same  way. 
Should  you  visit  several  of  them  you  would  find  a  certain 
monotony,  which  is  one  of  the  insurmountable  facts  about 


206  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

moving-pictures  —  the  monotony  of  mechanical  interpreta 
tion. 

But  the  moving-picture  has  in  many  respects  come  to  stay. 
The  newspaper  reporter,  for  instance,  has  a  rival,  since  it 
has  now  become  generally  recognized  that  wherever  an 
event  of  moment  is  taking  place,  side  by  side  with  the  news 
paper  man  may  generally  be  found  the  moving-picture  man 
with  his  outfit.  I  have  been  told  that  in  England  such  a 
phrase  as  "the  animated  newspaper"  has  been  coined. 
King  Edward  VII.  once  opened  an  exhibition  at  South  Ken 
sington;  two  hours  and  a  half  after  the  ceremony,  a  matinee 
audience  twelve  miles  away  was  witnessing  the  occurrence 
by  means  of  the  kinetoscope.  The  reporter  speaks  of  his 
Sunday  feature  in  the  newspaper.  In  the  same  sense  the 
moving-picture  man  is  accomplishing  similar  results  by 
his  films,  which  show  the  surrender  of  Port  Arthur,  the  riots 
in  St.  Petersburg  —  led  by  Father  Capon  —  and  the  assas 
sination  of  the  Grand  Duke  Sergius. 

Already  the  operators  of  the  kinetoscope  have  formed 
themselves  into  an  organization  known  as  "Local  No.  23 
of  the  Theatrical,  Electrical,  Calcium  Picture  and  Project 
ing  Machine  Operators'  Union  of  New  York."  Everywhere 
in  this  moving-picture  business,  there  seems  to  be  organi 
zation,  but  there  are  many  entering  the  field  who  have  no  idea 
as  to  how  the  work  should  be  run. 

Sometimes  when  the  films  are  particularly  fine,  the  man 
ager  raises  his  price  from  five  to  ten  cents,  just  as  the  theatre 
manager  raises  his  price  when  Bernhardt  comes  to  this 
country.  On  the  New  York  East  Side  during  Easter  Week 
the  whole  Passion  of  Christ  was  given  in  moving-pictures. 
The  performance  took  more  than  an  hour  and  was  accom 
panied  by  a  lecture  outlining  the  chief  incidents.  Altogether 
the  films,  divided  into  four  parts,  amounted  to  three  thou 
sand,  one  hundred  and  fourteen  feet  in  length.  Despite  the  fact 


THE  KINETOSCOPIC  THEATRE          207 

that  this  nickelodeon  theatre  was  situated  in  the  Jewish  quar 
ter,  the  manager  told  me  that  during  the  week  he  exhibited 
the  film,  his  business  had  been  larger  than  ever  before. 

I  have  used  the  phrase  "exhibited  the  film."  This  means 
that,  according  to  the  way  in  which  the  business  is  managed, 
the  films  travel  from  point  to  point,  just  as  a  stock  company 
would  go  from  theatre  to  theatre.  A  film  has  its  "route," 
just  as  a  traveling  company  has  its  "  route,"  and  I  have  been 
told  by  many  operators:  "My  'Way  Down  East'  film,  or 
my  '  Ben-Hur'  film  arrives  to-morrow  evening."  The  Ameri 
can  dramatists  have  sought  to  protect  themselves  through 
a  revision  of  the  copyright  law,  and  a  suit  once  pended  over 
the  kinetoscope  use  of  "Ben-Hur."  When  one  considers 
that  we  are  applying  human  terms  to  the  mechanical  facts, 
the  humor  of  the  situation  is  very  striking. 

In  Paris,  the  Pathe  Freres  —  realizing  the  essential  right 
of  the  French  dramatist  to  his  own  property  —  have  done 
the  next  best  thing;  they  have  arranged  with  members  of 
the  Society  of  French  Dramatists  and  Authors  to  write  special 
plays  for  use  solely  by  the  kinetoscope.  If  the  talking- 
machines  may  preserve  the  voices  of  our  opera  singers,  why 
may  not  the  kinetoscope  preserve  the  acting  of  our  actors? 
For,  to  carry  the  educational  feature  one  step  further,  the 
time  may  not  be  far  off  when  our  dramatic  schools  will  be 
instructed  by  Mme.  Bernhardt  and  Coquelin  from  the  moving- 
picture  screen. 

Unfortunately,  in  our  rush  to  introduce  the  moving-pic 
tures  into  this  country  —  a  rush  that  is  creating  a  very 
thoughtless  competition  in  the  trade  —  our  manufacturers 
are  forgetting  the  ethics  of  the  business.  They  have  not 
as  yet  compromised  in  the  French  manner  with  the  American 
dramatist,  though  they  will  be  forced  later  on  to  do  so.  But 
they  have  been  taking  without  permission  the  popular 
successes  of  the  moment,  and  turning  them  by  the  whole- 


208  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

sale  into  kinetoscopic  shows.  That  is  why,  in  its  last  session, 
the  Copyright  Committee  called  before  it  many  representa 
tives  of  the  American  Dramatists'  Club,  especially  those 
who  were  suffering  by  reason  of  the  kinetoscopic  perform 
ances  of  their  plays.  William  A.  Brady  gave  his  evidence 
as  to  "Way  Down  East":  "My  play,"  so  he  said,  "is  now 
being  printed  on  films  of  from  a  hundred  to  two  hundred 
copies  a  week,  by  a  company  which  is  a  member  of  this 
[moving-picture]  Trust  in  Chicago;  and  yesterday  one  of 
my  companies,  composed  of  thirty-five  people  —  men  and 
women  —  was  forced  off  the  road  and  sent  back  to  New  York. 
They  never  can  play  again,  because  in  nearly  every  one- 
night  stand  in  this  country,  'Way  Down  East'  is  being 
presented  on  every  street  corner,  presented  from  a  stolen 
manuscript  by  a  man  who  went  into  one  of  our  theatres 
and  took  down  a  copy  of  our  play,  and  sold  it  to  this  picture 
firm  which  is  now  destroying  my  property."  At  the  same 
committee  meeting,  Charles  Klein  spoke  of  "The  Music 
Master"  which  had  been  presented  at  a  nickelodeon  house 
on  Fourteenth  Street.  This  competition  with  his  own  play 
hurt  the  gallery  receipts  at  the  Academy  of  Music;  and  such 
a  condition  is  ruination  in  many  instances  to  the  manager, 
since  the  profits  of  a  theatre  are  almost  always  to  be  found 
in  the  gallery. 

During  the  course  of  this  conference  between  legislators 
and  theatrical  people,  it  was  brought  out  that  contracts  had 
been  made  in  France  by  moving-picture  manufacturers,  with 
Edmond  Rostand,  Henri  Lavedan,  and  Alfred  Capus,  for  the 
writing  of  special  plays,  the  former  to  do  three  fairy  dramas, 
of  which  the  first  will  be  "The  Sleeping  Beauty,"  while 
Lavedan  will  write  an  historical  drama,  dealing  with  the 
Due  de  Guise,  and  Capus  will  depict  scenes  of  financial  life 
in  Paris. 

The  manager  of  the  nickelodeon  has  his  legal  problems 


THE  KINETOSCOPIC  THEATRE        209 

to  contend  with.  There  is  a  license  to  be  obtained.  There 
is  the  consideration  of  whether  he  will  be  allowed  to  intro 
duce  vaudeville  into  his  performance  without  being  required 
to  pay  for  a  theatre  license.  There  are  laws  to  be  considered 
that  bring  him  in  contact  with  the  Department  of  Electricity, 
the  Fire  Department,  the  Tenement  House  Department, 
and  the  Department  of  Licenses.  He  has  to  struggle  with 
the  insurance  companies,  which  look  askance  at  the  risk.  He 
is  now  being  menaced  by  a  law  that  is  looming  up  before 
him,  preventing  a  nickelodeon  theatre  from  being  situated 
in  any  tenement  house  where  the  risk  jeopardizes  the  lives 
of  families  living  above. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  managers  of  these  small  amuse 
ment  places  have  to  be  watched  carefully.  It  has  been  found 
that  some  will  take  out  licenses  as  operators,  and  then  will 
transfer  these  licenses  to  small  boys  who  are  employed  in 
their  stead  at  lower  salaries.  In  New  Jersey,  to  cite  one 
instance,  boys  of  eleven  years  old  were  reported  as  running 
the  machine.  The  sanitary  condition  of  the  places  has  to 
be  supervised,  and  the  Building  Department  has  found 
difficulty  in  making  the  managers  comply  with  the  laws 
regulating  the  exits.  So  many  foreigners  are  now  entering 
the  business  that  it  has  been  found  necessary  to  agitate 
the  adoption  of  a  special  bill  requiring  all  managers  and 
operators  to  be  citizens  of  the  United  States,  as  well  as 
residents  of  the  community  in  which  they  work.  Massachu 
setts  has  been  markedly  active  in  passing  ordinances.  Onc- 
in  particular  has  touched  upon  the  greatest  weakness  con 
nected  with  the  kinetoscope  as  an  educational  or  amusement 
consideration.  I  refer  to  the  strain  upon  the  sight.  After 
visiting  a  number  of  these  places  in  succession,  subjecting  the 
eyes  to  two  hours'  continual  use,  it  will  be  found  that  the  per 
sistent  flutter  of  the  film  not  only  tires  but  pains  the  muscles 
of  the  eyes.  After  careful  investigation  by  some  of  the  lead- 


210  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

ing  physicians  in  Boston,  the  Massachusetts  Legislature 
passed  a  bill  requiring  that  five  minutes  of  light  must  flood 
the  theatre  after  every  twenty  minutes  of  pictures.  This 
requirement,  if  it  is  generally  passed  through  the  States,  as 
it  should  be,  will  hurt  many  small  places  which  are  only  long, 
dark  stores  supplied  with  a  number  of  seats  but  with  no 
ventilation  and  no  windows. 

Inventors  are  busily  engaged  in  trying  to  overcome  the 
defects  in  the  moving-pictures.  It  has  been  found  that  the 
flutter  of  the  film  on  the  screen  is  due  to  one  of  two  causes: 
either  the  strip  is  an  old  one,  or  there  are  not  a  sufficient 
number  of  pictures  covering  the  different  movements.  By 
this  latter  statement  is  meant  that  were  more  pictures  taken 
per  second,  there  would  be  less  apparent  flutter  of  the  film. 
A  French  firm  has  just  avoided  any  possibility  of  eye  strain 
by  having  their  films  contain  many  more  pictures  to  the 
second,  thus  reducing  to  a  minimum  the  apparent  gap  from 
point  to  point  of  action,  and  thus  doing  away  altogether 
with  any  jar.  Another  important  change  has  been  effected. 
Most  of  the  pictures  thrown  upon  the  white  screen  appear 
flat;  there  is  no  atmosphere  behind  objects  seen.  In  other 
words,  the  figures  look  as  though  they  were  being  witnessed 
by  a  person  with  one  eye  closed.  Perfect  perspective  will 
soon  be  given  to  the  kinetoscope  theatre  performances 
through  a  binocular  effect. 

Still  another  improvement  will  come.  That  will  be  in  the 
reproduction  of  natural  color  upon  the  screen,  the  applica 
tion  of  color  photography  to  the  kinetoscope.  The  other 
improvement  which  is  now  a  fact  will  perhaps  mean  more 
in  a  general  way  to  the  operator  than  the  others.  In  run 
ning  his  machine,  he  has  always  been  fearful  of  fire;  the 
slightest  defect  in  the  instrument  would  result  in  his  film 
catching  fire  from  the  electric  spark.  The  companies  are 
now  sending  out  non-inflammable  material. 


THE  KINETOSCOPIC  THEATRE          211 

The  important  point  regarding  the  moving-picture  is 
that  it  has  educational  possibilities.  The  five-cent  audience 
is  not  only  a  clean  audience,  but  is  ambitious  as  well.  The 
manufacturers  of  films  have  thus  far  produced  much  that 
is  trash,  especially  in  their  comic,  or  what  they  call  harmless, 
scenes.  They  have  unnecessarily  sensational  stories,  show 
ing  that  much  of  their  object  is  to  supply  a  wildcat  demand 
rather  than  to  improve  that  demand.  The  five-cent  audi 
ence  is  always  interested  in  desirable  subjects  that  will 
describe  the  occupations,  customs,  architecture,  and  chief 
racial  characteristics  of  the  nations. 

The  five-cent  audience  is  interested  in  wild-animal  life 
and  in  historical  views  much  more  than  in  the  ridiculous 
comedies  that  are  not  so  suggestive  as  they  are  inane.  Of 
course  the  police  have  been  obliged  at  times  to  put  a  stop 
to  certain  subjects  thrown  upon  the  screen,  not  because 
of  their  outward  suggestiveness  but  because  of  their  lack 
of  healthy  moral.  The  Children's  Court  has  had  to  con 
sider  cases  of  grand  larceny  inspired  by  the  moving-pictures 
of  a  burglar.  There  have  been  petty  thefts  committed  by 
children  who  for  five  cents  have  been  taught  the  best  way 
of  getting  what  belongs  to  others.  But  as  a  general  rule  the 
nickelodeons,  or  moving-picture  theatres,  of  which  there  are 
some  three  or  four  hundred  in  New  York  City,  present  a 
harmless  bill  of  fare,  if  not  a  very  educational  one. 

After  examining  a  number  of  catalogues  of  the  different 
manufacturers,  and  bearing  continually  in  mind  that  every 
moving-picture  has  been  the  result  of  actual  performance, 
one  is  surprised  to  find  the  dangers  that  kinetoscopic  actors 
have  to  risk  in  order  to  depict  a  given  story.  Every  manu 
facturer  has  his  paid  company  of  actors,  and  these  have  to 
be  richly  costumed  just  as  though  they  were  to  give  a  per 
formance  on  a  regular  stage.  Historical  plays  are  accurately 
mounted.  Not  only  is  scenery  prepared,  but  the  actors  are 


212  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

likewise  taken  into  the  country  where  different  localities  are 
agreed  upon  for  different  situations.  The  trouble  and  expense 
in  this  respect  are  great.  Only  recently  in  Rochester,  two 
automobiles  met  with  an  accident  while  rushing  through 
the  street  illustrating  for  the  kinetoscope  the  abduction  of  a 
girl.  So  that  a  manufacturer  finds  more  profit  in  sending 
his  photographers  traveling  throughout  the  world,  making 
pictures  of  pageants,  historical  scenes,  military  and  naval 
spectaculars,  than  in  mounting  rich  productions  himself. 

The  kinetoscope,  however,  has  had  to  adopt  many  methods 
of  the  theatre.  One  of  the  chief  resorts  is  dramatization, 
so  we  find  one  concern  making  arrangements  with  the 
author  and  publisher  of  "Monsieur  Beaucaire"  and  with 
the  author  and  manager  of  "  Raffles,"  and  with  the  publisher 
and  author  of  "  Sherlock  Holmes "  for  the  privilege  of  dram 
atizing.  The  kinetoscope  dramatist,  so  to  speak,  takes 
wherever  he  can  find.  He  outlines  the  story  of  "Treasure 
Island;"  he  adapts  Boucicault's  "The  Shaughraun;"  he 
makes  a  scenario  of  "Dora,"  based  on  Tennyson;  he  mod 
ernizes  "Oliver  Twist;"  he  receives  suggestions  for  Belasco's 
"Madame  Butterfly;"  he  turns  Hawtrey's  "Messenger 
from  Mars"  into  a  sentimental  tale  of  a  selfish  man;  he 
takes  the  motive  of  "  Othello"  and  puts  it  into  a  story  that 
is  the  husk  without  the  spirit  of  Shakespeare.  In  some  cases, 
where  a  film  has  been  particularly  popular,  he  is  forced  to 
write  a  sequel.  All  this  is  not  specially  original  work,  but 
the  moving-picture  man  expects  eventually  to  encourage  the 
high  art  of  the  pantomimist.  And  there  is  no  doubt  that 
eventually  the  American  dramatist  will  himself  write  small 
plays  for  the  kinetoscope  that  will  accentuate  pantomime. 


THE  KINETOSCOPIC  THEATRE          213 

III 

All  of  these  subjects  are  thrown  upon  the  screen  for  an 
eager  audience.  They  are  supplemented  very  often  by  a 
word  of  explanation  from  the  manager,  or  by  a  short  descrip 
tion  printed  on  the  film.  Sometimes  the  phonograph  is 
called  into  use,  but  as  yet  it  has  not  been  very  successfully 
employed.  The  manager  must  know  his  pictures,  so  that 
if  a  horse  dashes  upon  the  roadway  he  can  imitate  the  clat 
ter  of  hoofs;  if  a  man  falls  from  the  roof  he  must  represent 
the  crash,  just  as  whenever  a  clown  falls  at  the  circus  the 
drum  in  the  orchestra  measures  the  extent  of  his  hurt.  An 
intelligent  manager  could  inject  much  humor  into  his  pic 
tures  from  behind  the  screen,  but  he  must  be  careful  to  keep 
the  moral  tone  clean.  He  must  also  at  times  watch  the 
realism  of  his  play.  In  Chicago,  according  to  the  Moving 
Picture  World,  the  police  stopped  the  performance  of  "  Mac 
beth,"  and  the  report  of  the  officer  of  the  law  is  worth  quoting: 
"I  am  not  taking  issue  with  Shakespeare/'  he  said.  "As  a 
writer  he  was  far  from  reproach,  but  he  never  looked  into  the 
distance  and  saw  that  his  plays  were  going  to  be  interpreted 
for  the  five-cent  theatre.  Shakespeare  has  a  way  of  making 
gory  things  endurable,  because  there  is  so  much  of  art  and 
finish.  But  we  cannot  reproduce  that.  .  .  .  When  it  gets 
on  the  canvas,  it  is  worse  than  the  bloodiest  melodrama 
ever." 

The  stabbing  scene  in  the  play  is  not  predominant,  but 
in  a  picture  show  it  is  the  feature.  By  outdoing  melodrama, 
the  moving-picture  has  been  one  of  the  agents  to  kill  melo 
drama  of  the  violent  kind.  In  the  play,  the  stabbing  is  for 
gotten  amidst  the  other  exciting  and  artful  and  artistic 
creations  that  divert  the  imagination.  On  the  canvas,  you 
see  the  dagger  enter  and  come  out,  the  blood  flow,  and  the 
wound  that  is  left. 


214  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Thus  it  is  essential  to  remember  that  in  externalizing  a 
story  for  the  kinetoscope,  the  bare  details  through  their  very 
nature  sometimes  become  over-accentuated. 

The  moving-picture  has  undoubtedly  hurt  the  theatrical 
business.  It  steals  the  spoken  drama  and  reduces  it  to 
motion.  Every  road  company  has  its  tale  to  tell  of  business 
ruined  by  the  kinetoscope;  every  vaudeville  house  is  forced 
to  open  its  doors  to  celluloid  drama.  And  when  summer 
arrives,  the  legitimate  playhouses  turn  themselves  into  nickel 
odeons.  In  a  way  all  this  is  a  menace  to  the  American 
dramatist. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   PROGRESS   OF  THE  MOVING-PICTURE   SINCE   1910 

THE  moving-picture  has  proven  itself  to  be  such  an  agent 
of  vast  educational  possibilities  that  one  cannot  dismiss  it 
merely  because  it  has  also  proven  harmful  in  many  direc 
tions  to  the  art  of  the  theatre.  We  must  reckon  it  as  a  social 
force  which  inevitably  competes  with  the  theatre  as  a  busi 
ness  enterprise. 

The  rapid  progress  of  the  moving-picture  industry,  which 
makes  it  now  probably  the  second  largest  factor  in  the  manu 
facturing  field,  has  been  almost  meteoric  since  the  kineto- 
scope  was  first  introduced  as  a  novelty  in  1893.  Its  history, 
as  outlined  in  previous  sections,  presents  an  interesting  meas 
ure  of  the  quickness  with  which  the  moving-picture  was 
accepted  by  the  public  as  an  entertainment,  as  well  as  an 
educational  feature.  Like  all  new  inventions,  it  has  had  to 
pass  through  many  phases  of  unwise  experiment  and  wild-cat 
speculation.  Running  along  the  lines  of  least  resistance,  it 
has  had  to  pass  through  certain  channels  of  rigorous  censor 
ship,  until  such  laws  were  framed  to  govern  it  as  would  regu 
late  and  define  its  status  in  the  community. 

Since  its  first  days,  the  moving-picture  may  be  said  to  have 
made  inroads  on  the  energy  of  the  theatre.  It  has  so  far 
developed  beyond  its  nickelodeon  stage  that  it  has  now 
created  a  special  type  of  theatre  for  itself.  Furthermore,  it 
has  drawn  from  the  professional  playhouses  whatever  talents 
it  has  required  to  further  its  popular  success. 


216  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

When  the  subject  was  first  treated  in  this  volume,  the 
moving-picture  was  just  reaching  out  to  the  legitimate  actor 
for  cooperation.  In  the  past  few  years  almost  the  entire  act 
ing  profession,  at  one  tune  or  another,  has  deserted  the 
standards  of  legitimate  drama  and  gone  over  to  the  ranks  of 
celluloid  business.  There  is  scarcely  an  actor  of  note  who 
has  been  able  to  withstand  the  financial  allurements  offered 
by  moving-picture  managers.  Some  of  these  actors  have 
been  won  over  through  the  improvement  made  in  the  me 
chanical  details  of  manufacture,  whereby  most  artistic  results 
can  be  obtained  on  the  screen  and  fine  details  be  registered 
by  the  lens.  Not  only  that,  but  since  nickelodeon  days,  when 
the  cheapest  kind  of  films  were  hastily  put  together  by  writers 
who  were  not  then  sure  of  the  technique  required  for  the 
scenario,  there  has  been  a  decided  improvement  in  the  con 
structive  part  of  moving-picture  plots;  there  has  been  more 
care  bestowed  on  the  actual  structure  of  the  entertainment. 

The  increase  in  screen  work;  the  enormous  amount  of 
capital  involved,  large  sums  being  paid  by  rival  companies 
in  a  cut-throat  policy  of  competition;  the  cornering  of  actors 
and  actresses  by  the  moving-pictures,  reminding  one  of  the 
palmy  days  of  the  "star"  system,  when  Charles  Frohman 
and  Klaw  &  Erlanger,  and  other  managers  were  corralling 
promising  young  players ;  —  all  of  these  activities  show  very 
clearly  the  importance  attached,  within  the  past  five  years, 
to  the  moving-picture  industry  in  competition  with  the  legiti 
mate  theatre.  The  familiar  copyright  notice  is  now  stretched 
to  include  not  only  the  right  of  translation,  but  dramatic  and 
moving-picture  rights,  —  a  precaution  necessary  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  managers,  in  unwise  and  unthinking  haste,  are 
trying  to  monopolize  all  fiction  that  will  best  suit  their 
purposes. 

Granting,  therefore,  that  the  moving-picture  has  come  to 
stay,  we  are  concerned  here  only  with  its  relation  to  theatri- 


MOVING-PICTURE  SINCE  1910  217 

cal  art  and  to  the  theatre  itself.  We  must  take  it  for  granted 
that,  since  the  days  of  the  old  peep-hole  machine,  there  has 
been  every  effort  made  to  put  the  moving-picture  on  a  higher 
educational  plane.  By  this,  the  managers  have  counteracted 
the  cheapness  of  the  entertainment  that  used  to  be  offered 
in  the  nickelodeon.  We  must  take  it  for  granted  also  that, 
by  slow  degrees,  due  to  the  ingenuity  of  Thomas  Edison  and 
other  inventors,  the  mechanism  of  the  moving-picture  has 
reached  a  high  perfection  of  achievement.  In  addition, 
through  successive  attempts  on  the  part  of  moving-picture 
managers  to  raise  the  character  of  the  entertainment  by  pro 
ducing  the  "Passion  Play"  and  by  enlisting  the  artistic 
services  of  Sarah  Bernhardt,  the  moving-picture  has,  in  its 
artistic  structure,  been  brought  to  a  state  of  excellence  which 
places  it  on  an  artistic  footing. 

Granting  all  this,  there  is  left  for  us  to  consider  the  advance 
in  artistry  since  1910,  and  the  effect  this  has  had  on  the 
theatre. 

The  technique  of  the  moving-picture  has  become  a  science. 
Many  books  have  been  written  on  the  subject,  probably  the 
most  instructive  being  that  by  Epes  Winthrop  Sargent,  en 
titled  "The  Technique  of  the  Photoplay."  Throughout  the 
country  there  is  a  vast  horde  of  people  studying  the  structure 
of  the  screen  scenario,  and  meeting  with  considerable  success 
in  placing  manuscripts.  Were  one  to  ask  the  reason  why  the 
legitimate  stage  has  not  heard  much  within  recent  years  from 
George  Ade,  one  might  say,  not  knowing  how  right  the  in 
ference,  that  he  was  devoting  some  of  his  dramatic  talents  to 
the  manufacturing  of  plots  or  captions  for  the  moving-picture. 
It  is  demanding  ingenuity  in  all  directions. 

The  elements  in  the  moving-picture  business  discussed  in 
the  preceding  pages  have  developed  along  separate  lines  and 
have  made  tremendous  strides.  Through  the  efforts  of  the 
Censorship  Board,  the  comedy  output  has  improved,  and 


218  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

through  the  cooperation  of  the  legitimate  actor,  the  drama 
element  has  approached  in  delineation  nearer  to  the  legiti 
mate  stage.  Since  1910,  Daniel  Frohman  has  devoted  almost 
his  entire  energy  in  furthering  the  work  of  the  Famous 
Players  Film  Company,  and  through  his  assistance  the  work 
of  the  moving-picture  actor  has  deserved  a  greater  claim  to 
be  called  art.  It  is  he  who  has  helped  to  draw  into  the  mov 
ing-picture  activity  such  actors  as  James  O'Neill  in  "  Monte 
Cristo,"  James  K.  Hackett  in  "The  Prisoner  of  Zenda," 
and  Viola  Allen  in  "  The  Christian."  One  by  one  the  differ 
ent  well-known  plays  have  since  these  initial  times  been 
screened.  But  the  managers  have  often  failed  to  differenti 
ate  between  the  external  drama  of  the  moving-picture  play 
and  the  intensive  psychological  drama  which  only  the  actor's 
finest  work  can  reveal.  This  failure  to  differentiate  was 
excellently  seen  at  the  time  Mrs.  Fiske  appeared  in  her  well- 
earned  success,  "  Tess  of  the  D  'Urbervilles."  The  difference 
was  likewise  apparent  when  Cyril  Maude  produced  the  screen 
picture  of  "Peer  Gynt."  One  only  has  to  see  how  far  away 
from  the  original  plot  and  artistic  structure  of  a  work  of  art 
the  screen  scenario  must  go  to  realize  the  wide  difference  in 
technique,  and  the  tremendous  liberties  that  must  be  taken. 
As  a  moving-picture  critic  declared,  it  would  have  been  a 
staiggering  blow  to  Henrik  Ibsen  if  he  had  been  able  to  see 
what  was  done  with  his  masterpiece,  so  great  was  the  mass  of 
interpolated  scenes. 

The  moving-picture  at  best  is  mechanical.  It  is  based  on 
"fake,"  on  trickery,  on  excess  action  and  emotion,  on  situa 
tion  rather  than  on  psychology.  Its  technique  consists  in 
"switch  backs"  and  "close  ups"  and  "repetitions."  Its  suc 
cess  has  been  dependent,  very  largely,  on  its  visual  demands 
rather  than  on  its  intellectual  demands.  The  moving-picture 
play,  whether  it  be  a  dramatization  of  Victor  Hugo's  "  Les 
Miserables,"  or  Hawthorne's  "The  Scarlet  Letter,"  pre- 


MOVING-PICTURE  SINCE  1910  219 

sents  an  easy  way  of  gaining  an  instantaneous  impression  of 
literature  and  drama.  This  impression  passes  through  the 
eye  rather  than  through  the  brain,  and  one  is  left  at  the  end 
with  no  measure  of  the  spiritual  significance  of  the  whole. 
We  are  given  an  area  of  action  that  excites,  and  oftentimes 
excites  wrongly. 

I  have  been  told  by  moving-picture  actors  that  while,  for  a 
time,  the  technique  of  acting  before  the  screen  is  of  interest, 
because  of  its  novelty,  it  soon  becomes  reduced  to  going 
through  a  mass  of  expert  action  rather  than  creating  by  the 
very  finesse  of  acting.  The  fact  that  there  are  some  players 
who  fail  to  make  a  success  in  the  moving-picture,  whereas 
they  have  gained  success  on  the  legitimate  stage,  is  sufficient 
proof  that,  as  far  as  technique  is  concerned,  the  two  arts  are 
different  and  most  likely  conflicting. 

It  has  been  my  experience,  in  witnessing  different  plays  on 
the  screen,  —  especially  those  I  have  previously  witnessed 
on  the  stage,  —  that  the  larger  the  sweep  of  emotion,  the 
larger  the  panorama  of  atmosphere,  the  larger  the  opportu 
nity  for  spectacular  effects,  the  more  successful  will  the  mov 
ing-picture  be.  I  have  seen  a  dramatization  of  "Treasure 
Island,"  and  I  have  seen  "Treasure  Island"  on  the  screen. 
The  two  cannot  be  compared  in  the  scope  of  their  pictorial 
effects,  but  I  had  a  much  clearer  impression  of  the  unity  of 
the  Stevenson  tale  from  the  theatre  than  I  did  from  the  cellu 
loid  drama.  In  the  latter  I  was  carried  on  a  real  ship  upon 
the  real  sea.  In  the  former  I  was  given  a  painted  side  of  a 
ship,  but  I  heard  the  actual  voices  of  the  pirates,  and  the 
warmth  of  their  personality  came  across  the  footlights,  and 
my  interest  was  not  scattered  over  such  a  wide  area.  My 
attention  was  not  called  away  to  successive  pictures.  I  wit 
nessed  a  production  of  Jules  Verne's  "Twenty  Thousand 
Leagues  under  the  Sea."  I  was  given  pictures  of  deep-sea 
life  that  no  imagination  on  my  part  could  ever  have  conjured 


220  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

up,  even  with  the  aid  of  Jules  Verne's  descriptions.  The 
story,  as  outlined  in  a  cheap  scenario,  was  badly  constructed 
and  unsatisfactorily  evolved,  but  the  externals  of  the  story 
were  beyond  mere  words.  I  have  seen  Bronson  Howard's 
"  Shenandoah,"  both  as  a  play  and  as  a  moving-picture.  The 
latter  excelled  the  former  by  the  very  opportunity  the  situa 
tions  afforded  the  moving-picture  writer  to  build  on  Mr. 
Howard's  scenario  and  create  pictorially  the  spirit  of  Civil 
War  times  —  that  same  spirit  which  dominated  and  made  of 
such  educational  value  Griffith's  gigantic  "The  Birth  of  a 
Nation,"  based  on  Thomas  Dixon's  "The  Clansman." 

We  have  heard  marvellous  statements  in  regard  to  the 
salaries  paid  to  moving-picture  actors.  Billie  Burke  turned 
from  the  legitimate  stage  at  the  call  of  $4,000  a  week  for 
a  long  continuous  engagement,  and  surprising  perquisites  on 
the  side.  Geraldine  Farrar  was  willing  to  sacrifice  some 
of  her  prestige  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House  at  the  call 
of  celluloid  finance.  And  she  has  been  the  heroine  in  a  screen 
version  of  "Carmen"  and  of  "Joan  of  Arc,"  advertised  the 
country  wide  more  extensively  than  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House  could  ever  possibly  advertise  her  appearance  in 
Opera.  In  fact,  so  important  was  Miss  Farrar's  entry  into 
the  moving-picture  field  regarded  by  the  management  of  the 
Metropolitan,  that  a  rule  was  made  that  hereafter  the  Opera 
House  should  share  in  the  profits  of  its  "stars"  who  con 
sented  to  do  moving-picture  work. 

The  danger  to  the  legitimate  theatre  in  this  wide-spread 
recruiting  of  the  actor  may  be  seen  in  Walter  P.  Eaton's 
facetious  way  of  describing  Miss  Farrar's  appearance  in 
"Carmen."  He  writes:  "If  you  can  get  the  fair  Geraldine 
for  a  jitney,  with  a  real  bull  thrown  in,  why  spend  five  bucks 
to  see  her  at  the  Opera  House  without  any  bull  at  all?" 

This  humorous  statement  explains  the  danger  of  the  mov 
ing-picture's  grip  on  the  theatre-going  public.  There  are  no 


MOVING-PICTURE  SINCE   1910  221 

economic  comparisons  between  the  two;  only  contrasts. 
Many  efforts  were  made  on  the  part  of  managers  to  give 
enormous  productions;  they  charged  two  dollars  for  the 
evening's  entertainment,  as  in  the  case  of  D'Annunzio's 
"Cabiria."  But  the  fact  is,  the  moving-picture  hits  the  le 
gitimate  theatre  hardest  on  the  side  of  its  very  cheapness. 
Though  prices  have  risen  since  the  days  of  the  nickelodeon, 
they  have  scarcely  risen  above  twenty-five  cents.  Through 
the  chain  of  smaller  theatres,  which  shows  the  moving-picture 
organizing  in  circuits  like  the  legitimate  theatre,  these  pic 
tures  are  oftentimes  offered  at  even  cheaper  rates. 

We  learn  from  certain  authoritative  sources  that  one-third 
the  population  in  Dallas,  Texas,  goes  to  the  moving-picture 
daily;  that  one-fifth  the  population  of  Cleveland  does  the 
same  thing.  If  this  is  so,  is  it  right  for  us  to  argue  that  all  of 
them  go  because  they  like  the  moving-picture,  or  because  it 
is  the  only  form  of  entertainment  they  can  afford?  Is  it  right 
for  us  to  infer  that  were  it  possible,  economically,  for  Geral- 
dine  Farrar  in  "Carmen"  to  be  seen  in  one  house  at  a  nomi 
nal  price,  while  the  moving-picture  of  "Carmen"  was  being 
played  in  another  at  the  same  price,  people  would  choose  the 
moving-picture  in  preference  to  Geraldine  Farrar?  Yet  we 
can  carry  the  argument  still  further,  and  herein  lies  another 
direct  point  inimical  to  the  theatre.  People,  economically 
deprived  of  paying  five  dollars  to  hear  Geraldine  Farrar  sing 
"Carmen,"  may  argue  that  the  difference  between  twenty- 
five  cents  in  seeing  her  on  the  screen  and  five  dollars  in  seeing 
her  at  an  Opera  House  —  which  difference  is  partly  a  measure 
of  her  personality  —  is  not  worth  the  sacrifice.  If  one  ask 
how  about  the  voice,  we  would  add  that  it  is  possible  to  hear 
"Carmen"  on  the  Victor  machine  at  a  nominal  sum. 

In  other  words,  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  actor  who  goes 
into  the  moving-picture,  and  yet  who  retains  a  love  for  le 
gitimate  acting,  loses  much  more  than  is  gained  by  the 


222  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

monetary  lure.  For,  in  the  exploitation  of  personality  on  the 
screen,  one  decreases  the  value  of  personality  in  the  theatre. 

The  moving-picture  business,  if  one  stop  to  consider  its 
organization  carefully,  is  in  the  same  state  the  theatrical 
business  was  in  at  the  time  the  Theatrical  Trust  was  in  full 
power.  There  is  wild-cat  competition,  there  is  a  discounting 
of  real  intellectual  planning,  there  is  a  vast  waste  of  time, 
energy,  and  money,  and  there  is  a  cheap  rush  after  novelty. 

The  moving-picture  is  self-consciously  making  usev  of  the 
theatre.  Those  actors  who  are  in  the  moving-picture  work, 
and  yet  who  are  outspoken  in  their  criticism  of  it,  are  candid 
in  their  belief  that  it  is  enervating  to  act  before  the  camera. 
Whereas  at  first  they  thought  what  they  lost  in  power  of  vocal 
expression  they  would  gain  in  power  of  pantomime,  they 
soon  found  such  was  not  the  case.  This  truth  was  brought 
home  to  me  when  Winthrop  Ames  produced  "Pierrot  the 
Prodigal,"  exquisitely  done  in  pantomime  by  the  Belgian 
actor,  Paul  Clerget,  and  a  company  of  adequate  players.  It 
was  then  that  I  was  able  to  contrast  the  methods  of  real 
pantomime  with  the  methods  used  on  the  screen.  It  was 
then  forced  in  upon  me  that  the  moving-picture  had  utterly 
failed  in  one  vital  particular.  The  art  of  pantomime  is  truly 
mimetic,  based  on  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  external  form 
of  inward  emotion;  but  the  pantomime  of  the  moving-picture 
is  entirely  kinetic. 

Somewhere,  I  have  come  across  the  statement  made  by  a 
manager  regarding  waste  in  the  film  industry.  It  is  worthy 
of  consideration.  He  said:  "For  every  dollar  spent  in  this 
plant,  at  least  fifty  cents  is  lost  in  not  driving  to  capacity.  I 
admit  that  a  studio  is  not  a  factory,  but  can  you  picture  any 
mill  business,  for  instance,  where  the  operatives  loaf  on  full- 
time  pay,  while  the  owner,  the  designer,  and  the  foreman 
plan  next  year's  patterns?  Well,  that  is  what  we  do  in  the 
moving-picture  game.  We  are  forever  wasting  to-day's  time, 


MOVING-PICTURE  SINCE  1910  223 

planning  on  something  newer  and  bigger  for  to-morrow,  next 
week,  next  month,  next  year." 

The  manufacturers  of  moving-pictures  have,  in  the  past 
five  years,  learned  their  lesson.  They  have  become  aware 
of  the  necessity  of  paying  attention  to  the  art  quality  of  a 
picture.  Inasmuch  as  they  have  lost  what  the  medium  of 
the  wrord  gives  in  fine  quality  of  psychology  and  in  intellectual 
stimulus,  these  managers  now  try  to  make  up  for  the  loss  by 
the  greater  time  and  attention  paid  to  the  pictorial  value  of  the 
scene.  They  also  aim  for  the  editorial  timeliness  of  the  topic. 
Defining  the  characteristics  of  the  moving-picture,  Brian 
Hooker  states  that  it  must  remain  a  general  or  popular  art; 
being  a  photograph  that  moves,  it  has  advanced  beyond  the 
stage  of  mechanical  novelty.  In  other  words,  people  have 
come  to  be  more  interested  in  the  thing  represented  by  move 
ment  than  in  the  actual  mechanical  movement.  One  empha 
sizes  very  rightly  the  big  possibilities  of  the  moving-picture 
as  an  instrument  for  visualizing  current  events,  keeping  the 
public  in  touch  with  daily  happenings.  In  other  words,  the 
"animated  newspaper "  is  more  and  more  being  made  pos 
sible  by  the  reportorial  use  of  the  camera.  Frederic  C.  Howe, 
Commissioner  of  Immigration,  was  discerning  when,  in  dis 
cussing  the  National  Board  of  Censorship,  and  the  work  done 
by  the  moving-picture  in  decreasing  the  patronage  of  the 
saloons  and  in  increasing  the  circulation  of  better  books  in 
the  Library,  remarked:  "  The  moving-picture  show  is  not  only 
Democracy's  theatre;  it  is  a  great  educational  agency,  and 
it  is  likely  to  become  a  propagandist  agency  of  unmeasured 
possibilities."  The  newspaper  quality  of  the  moving-picture, 
therefore,  has  been  taken  into  consideration  by  the  Board  of 
Censorship  in  the  framing  of  certain  specific  rules  governing 
that  body. 

Nowhere  has  the  value  of  the  moving-picture,  as  a  medium 
of  timeliness,  been  better  illustrated  (1917)  than  by  the  num- 


224  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

berless  films  sent  direct  from  the  front,  showing  the  warring 
nations.  For  the  first  time,  history  in  action  will  be  visualized 
for  generations  to  come  —  scenes  taken  not  only  from  every 
quarter  of  the  land,  but  panoramic  views  taken  by  the  aero 
plane  corps.  The  moving-picture  has  placed  before  the 
commanding  generals  information  which  the  scouts  of  old 
could  never  have  gathered  in  so  short  a  time. 

It  is  here  that  one  sees  the  democratic  grip  of  the  moving- 
picture  on  the  masses.  But  however  much  the  pictures  may 
have  improved  as  mere  pictures,  as  stage  groups,  and  in 
their  scenic  effects,  the  fact  still  remains  that,  as  a  theatre 
proposition,  the  moving-picture  has  not  been  able  to  outrival 
finesse  of  acting  or  to  rob  the  artist  in  the  theatre  of  his 
human  value. 

Scenarios  made  from  plays  which  have  met  success  on  the 
stage  have  more  or  less  distorted  every  artistic  value  of  the 
drama.  One  can  imagine  what  the  manipulation  of  "Peter 
Pan"  on  the  screen  would  be.  Mary  Pickford's  appearance 
in  Eleanor  Gates's  "The  Poor  Little  Rich  Girl"  is  another 
excellent  example  of  how  a  delicate  idea  may  be  choked  to 
death. 

I  do  not  deny  that  it  will  be  interesting  for  future  genera 
tions,  not  having  been  able  to  witness  certain  actors,  to  have 
in  their  possession  such  records  as  the  moving-picture  affords. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  such  an  actress  as  Madame  Bernhardt 
has  always  had  a  technique  which  the  screen  can  preserve 
apart  from  the  value  of  her  personality.  It  is  to  be  regretted 
that  the  moving-picture  had  not  been  brought  to  its  present 
pitch  of  excellence  during  the  lifetime  of  Henry  Irving  or 
Richard  Mansfield,  both  men  marked  with  mannerisms  which 
were  surmounted  by  splendid  technique.  The  romantic  brag 
gadocio  of  Otis  Skinner,  as  seen  in  such  plays  as  Henry  Arthur 
Jones's  "Cock  o'  the  Walk"  or  Edward  Knoblauch's  "Kis 
met,"  might  likewise  be  preservable  in  celluloid.  But  Mr. 


MOVING-PICTURE  SINCE  1910  225 

Skinner  has  not  yet  deserted  the  ranks,  and  even  should  he, 
we  doubt  whether  he  will  ever  relinquish  his  conviction  that, 
however  perfect  the  moving-picture,  it  will  always  lack  the 
human  equation.  To  him  one  will  always  be  witnessing  the 
operation  of  a  machine. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  its  drawbacks,  one  cannot  but  recognize 
that  the  moving-picture  fills  a  decided  place  in  a  Democracy. 
George  Bernard  Shaw,  writing  on  the  subject,  suggests  that 
its  interest  lies  "  in  the  new  opening  for  the  mass  of  dramatic 
talent  formerly  disabled  by  incidental  deficiencies  of  one  sort 
or  another  that  do  not  matter  in  the  picture  theatre."  Such 
may  be  the  case,  but  the  great  handicap  to  the  legitimate 
stage  has  been  that  the  moving-picture  did  not  confine  itself 
to  the  services  of  those  who  were  of  no  use  in  the  legitimate 
theatre.  It  has  made  ever-increasing  inroads  on  those  who 
have  dramatic  talent.  One  can  thoroughly  agree  with  Mr. 
Shawr  in  the  following  isolated  quotations  taken  from  his 
argument:  "By  accustoming  the  poorest  playgoers  to  genu 
ine  realism  in  scenery  at  so  low  a  cost  of  representation  and 
reproduction  that  our  film  companies  can  afford  to  spend 
sums  on  the  original  production  that  would  ruin  the  most 
princely  actor-manager,  it  reduces  the  would-be  deceptive 
realistic  scenery  of  the  spoken  drama  to  absurdity,  both 
artistically  and  economically,  and  thereby  gives  a  powerful 
and  elevating  impulse  to  the  restoration  of  the  conditions 
under  which  the  theatre  attained  its  highest  and  freest 
point.  .  .  .  The  film  drama  will  compete  so  successfully  with 
the  spoken  drama  that  it  will  drive  it  to  its  highest  ground, 
and  close  all  paths  to  it  except  those  in  which  its  true  glory 
lies;  that  is,  the  path  of  high  human  utterance,  of  great 
thoughts  and  great  wit,  of  poesy  and  of  prophecy." 

One  quite  agrees  with  all  that  can  be  said  in  extenuation  of 
the  value  of  the  moving-picture.  But  so  far  it  has  not  found 
itself  as  an  art;  so  far  it  has  not  defined  its  own  particular 


226  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

realm  except  as  an  educational  possibility;  so  far  it  has  not 
convinced  us  that  it  will  ever  be  able  to  overcome,  in  dealing 
with  great  art,  the  defect  so  well  suggested  in  a  simple  ques 
tion  asked  by  Mr.  Shaw.  That  question  is :  "  What  becomes 
of  the  difference  between  Shakespeare  and  Sheriden  Knowles 
on  the  film?" 

With  that,  we  leave  the  subject  of  moving-pictures  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  moving-picture  enthusiasts.1 

1  That  the  subject  of  the  moving-picture  has  received  adequate 
attention  by  the  magazine  writer  is  evident  by  consulting  the 
"  Dramatic  Index  "  for  the  past  five  years.  The  art  of  the  cinema  has 
been  treated  in  all  of  its  phases.  Two  suggestive  volumes  are 
those  by  Hugo  Mtinsterberg  on  "The  Photoplay:  A  Psychological 
Study,"  and  Vachell  Lindsay's  "The  Art  of  the  Moving  Picture." 
Consult  also:  "The  Magnates  of  the  Motion  Picture,"  by  Isaac  F. 
Marcosson,  Munsey,  48:209.  "The  Movies,"  by  George  Bernard 
Shaw,  Metropolitan  Magazine,  42:23.  "Actor  Snatching  and  the 
Movies,"  by  Walter  P.  Eaton,  American  Magazine,  80:32.  "Mov 
ing-Picture  Authors,"  by  Walter  P.  Eaton,  American  Magazine, 
81:34.  "The  Art  of  the  Moving-Picture  Play,"  Clayton  Hamilton, 
Bookman,  23:512. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SHOULD  THE  POETIC  DRAMA  BE  DRAMATIZED? 

WE  are  being  constantly  reminded  of  the  inadequacy  of 
the  so-called  poetic  drama  to  fill  the  essential  demands  of 
the  theatre;  and,  whenever  the  poetic  drama  fails  to  hold 
the  boards,  we  are  prone  to  deplore  the  insufficiency  of 
public  taste.  Yet  we  are  servile  imitators,  and  show  no 
willingness  to  look  behind  the  traditions  with  which  we  are 
often  shackled.  There  is  a  preconceived  notion  that  some 
thing  is  lacking  in  the  person  who  declaims  against  the 
literary  drama,  the  closet  drama,  or  the  poetic  drama.  Can 
dor  makes  us  confess  that  there  is  as  much  ignorance  on  the 
part  of  those  who  are  against  as  of  those  who  are  for  it. 
The  mistaken  attitude  assumed  by  both  ranks  is  founded  upon 
a  contradiction  of  terms  and  upon  the  identification  of  the 
conventions  of  a  type  with  the  essence  of  the  poetic  principle. 

In  our  consideration,  we  would  not  proceed  as  far  as  Poe 
in  that  peculiar  essay  of  his  on  "  The  American  Drama," 
where  he  suggests  that  "the  first  thing  necessary  is  to  burn 
or  bury  the  'old  models/  and  to  forget,  as  quickly  as 
possible,  that  ever  a  play  has  been  penned;"  we  are  too 
thoroughly  in  advocacy  of  an  historical  perspective  for 
dramatic  criticism.  But  we  do  believe  with  Coleridge  that 
"it  is  to  be  lamented  that  we  judge  of  books  (as  well  as  of 
plays)  by  books,  instead  of  referring  what  we  read  to  our 
own  experience." 

All  things  of  the  theatre  should  be  applied  to  the  theatre. 


228  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

An  unactable  drama  is  a  contradiction  of  terms;  a  poetic 
drama  is  simply  one  phase  of  a  larger  and  more  inclusive 
art.  Very  recently  a  college  professor  declared  that  the 
"  playhouse  has  no  monopoly  of  the  dramatic  form,"  while 
another,  in  just  refutation,  called  attention  to  the  fact  that 
Byron,  Landor,  Shelley,  Coleridge,  Johnson,  Tennyson,  and 
Browning,  whose  dramas  are  relegated  to  the  closet,  if  not 
to  the  shelf,  wrote  for  the  stage  and  failed. 

There  is  only  one  thing  intended  for  the  playhouse,  and 
that  is  —  drama;  whatever  its  form,  whatever  its  content, 
it  must  satisfy  the  conditions  through  which  it  has  elected 
to  reach  the  human  spirit.  To  the  university  man  we  would 
say  that  poetry  has  no  monopoly  of  the  poetic  spirit;  that 
conventions  have  deceived  us  into  believing  the  poetic 
drama  to  consist  of  such  rhythm,  of  such  rhyme,  of  such 
length,  when  in  reality  its  vital  measure  is  the  exaltation  of 
the  human  spirit  in  the  light  of  truth  and  beauty. 

The  modern  theatre  is  focussing  its  rays  closer  and  closer 
upon  life  —  never  upon  anything  else;  it  makes  no  differ 
ence  whether  you  are  outside  the  veil  with  Ibsen  peering 
in;  or  inside  the  veil  with  Maeterlinck  peering  out  —  the 
active  being,  spirit,  intellect,  or  flesh  is  concerned  with  its 
protagonist. 

According  to  our  idea,  the  poet  has  not  only  misinterpreted 
the  functions  of  drama,  but  has  limited  the  essence  of  the 
poetic  to  a  manner  of  expression;  he  has  not  only  been 
content  to  deal  with  life  in  the  abstract,  but  he  has  departed 
from  life  in  search  for  beauty.  Despite  these  conditions 
and  these  counter-elements,  we  are  safe  in  claiming,  none 
theless,  that  the  time  is  propitious  for  the  poetic  drama. 
It  will  never  come  from  the  poet  who  lacks  the  dramatic 
sense,  but  it  will  be  born  of  the  dramatist  in  whom  the  poetic 
impulse  is  quick. 

Whenever  a  poet  turns  playwright,  we  may  be  sure  that 


Photo,  by  By  ret  Studio,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

JOSEPHINE  PRESTON  PEABODY 


DRAMATIZING  POETIC  DRAMA         229 

we  are  to  be  treated  to  a  baffling  maze  of  half -formed  ideas. 
It  does  not  do  to  have  the  dramatist  pause  in  his  essential 
stage  structure  in  order  to  listen  to  his  own  music.  The 
stage  is  progressive,  not  contemplative;  direct,  not  indefinite; 
particular,  not  general.  Remove  from  it  the  power  to  hold, 
and  it  is  no  longer  a  theatre  in  the  sense  that  people  would 
have  it. 

Such  drama,  I  claim,  is  twice  removed  in  its  relationship 
to  the  bare  boards  of  the  stage,  by  reason  of  its  surcharged 
beauty  and  by  reason  of  its  classic  form.  For  the  actor,  it 
is  only  an  exercise  in  reading;  for  the  audience,  it  has  the 
heavy  odor  of  crowded  flowers,  badly  arranged.  The  poet, 
turned  dramatist,  is  condescending  toward  the  stage;  and 
he  has  added  nothing  to  the  theatre  that  it  did  not  already 
know;  has  gained  nothing  from  the  theatre,  even  though 
there  was  much  to  gain.  He  has  put  poetry  into  the  form  of 
drama,  without  having  any  drama  in  his  poetry. 

When  Josephine  Preston  Peabody's  *  "  The  Piper  "  won 
the  Stratford  prize,  and  was  played  at  the  Shakespeare 
Memorial  Theatre  by  Benson  and  his  company,  in  the 
Spring  of  1910,  many  people  proclaimed  that  blank  verse 
had  come  into  its  own  again.  No  manager  in  America  before 
then  would  touch  it  for  presentation,  and  it  was  once  de 
clined  by  the  New  Theatre,  which  hastened  later  to  pro 
duce  it.  There  is  much  to  say  in  extenuation  of  the  American 
attitude.  "The  Piper"  is  drama  twice  removed  —  because 
of  its  beauty,  and  because  of  its  form,  loosely  knit.  There 
is  also  a  pronounced  indefiniteness  of  idea. 

Naturally,  Mrs.  Marks  (Miss  Peabody)  has  some  justi 
fication  in  her  confidence  that  she  has  given  the  stage  a 
notable  poetic  contribution;  naturally  she  has  theories 
regarding  the  province  of  poetry  on  the  stage.  But  her 

1  Mrs.  Marks  is  also  the  author  of  "Marlowe"  (1901)  and  "The 
Wings"  (1905). 


230  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

technical  ideas  are  wrong,  and  not  in  accord  with  the  mod 
ern  practice  of  the  theatre.  Maybe,  as  a  poet,  she  is  right 
in  her  practice,  but  it  is  a  rock  upon  which  she  will  even 
tually  founder.  She  will  there  find  the  battered  wrecks 
of  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich's  "Judith  of  Bethulia,"  of  Percy 
Mackaye's  "Sappho  and  Phaon,"  wrecks  beautiful  in  their 
dramatic  inertia,  clogged  with  the  passive  beauty  of  simile 
and  metaphor. 

"The  Piper,"  as  Mrs.  Marks  conceived  it,  had  a  supreme 
evidence  of  vitality  about  it  —  its  permanent  legendary 
character.  We  have  the  nursery  interpretation  of  it  in 
picture  books,  in  Jacob's  "More  English  Fairy  Tales"  and 
in  Lang's  "Red  Fairy  Book";  and  we  have  Browning's 
poem.  But  the  structure  of  the  piece,  as  Mrs.  Marks  con 
ceived  it,  detracts  from  the  Piper's  simple  nature,  from 
his  real  historic  character.  In  search  for  some  deep  phi 
losophy  of  life,  the  author  mixes  many  minor  stories  of  her 
own  invention  into  the  main  threads  of  an  attractive  legend, 
and  meanders  through  long  and  weary  speeches. 

"The  Piper"  is  no  play  in  the  theatre  sense,  even  though 
the  personality  of  such  an  actress  as  Miss  Edith  Wynne 
Matthison  has  helped  to  make  it  a  success.  It  might  have 
been  greater,  had  Mrs.  Marks  not  been  the  poet  so  utterly; 
had  she  been  willing  to  thrash  out  the  meaning,  and  to  remain 
constant  to  one  line  of  thought.  And  that  is  the  danger  of 
poetry  on  the  stage;  it  is  too  discursive  and  too  full  of  un 
essential  beauty.  For  this  reason,  Mr.  Moody,  who  had 
met  with  success  in  "The  Great  Divide"  (1907)  because 
of  its  theatrical  effectiveness,  met  with  failure  in  "The 
Faith  Healer"  (1909)  because  of  its  vagueness. 

To-day  two  facts  are  evident:  the  realism  which  is  sym 
bolized  by  Ibsen,  and  the  symbolism  which  is  realized  by 
Maeterlinck  have  not  only  intensified  dramatic  material 
and  narrowed  external  action,  but  they  have  opened  a 


DRAMATIZING  POETIC  DRAMA         231 

channel  for  the  actor  which  only  his  genius  can  compass. 
The  worn-out  models  of  the  theatre  have  been  confiscated, 
along  with  the  old-fashioned  theatrical  methods  of  inter 
pretation.  Introspective  significance  has  decreased  the 
violent  reaction,  and  the  most  beautiful  acting  has  now  be 
come  the  most  quiet  acting. 

How  many  of  us  have  returned  again  and  again  to  Lamb's 
essay  on  the  "Tragedies  of  Shakespeare,"  in  which  occurs 
the  significant  passage,  anent  the  impracticableness  of 
playing  "Hamlet"  —  a  passage  which  reads:  "Nine  parts 
in  ten  of  what  Hamlet  does  are  transactions  between  himself 
and  his  moral  sense,"  —  transactions  reduced  to  mere  words 
for  the  sake  of  the  reader.  This  leads  one  to  believe  that 
an  Elizabethan  commentator  may  some  day  issue  an  edition 
of  Shakespeare  with  passages,  called  by  Lamb  "silent 
meditations,"  printed  in  italics  to  serve  as  psychological  stage 
directions,  after  the  manner  of  Shaw. 

Nevertheless,  there  is  something  in  Lamb's  argument.  His 
recent  adherent  is  Maeterlinck,  who  likewise  believes  in 
the  unsuitableness  of  unseen  forces  for  expressive  interpre 
tation.  They  must  be  quietly  realized.  Lamb  and  Maeter 
linck  have  both  found  the  theatre  incapable  of  solving  the 
problem  of  meditation  on  the  stage,  yet  the  poetic  drama 
must  of  necessity  deal  with  just  those  phases  of  character 
and  of  destiny  which  are  hardest  to  reconcile  with  custom 
and  habit  and  familiar,  commonplace  movement. 

Dramatic  literature  of  recent  years  represents  a  revulsion 
from  conventional  notions  which  have  grown  up  around 
ancient  models.  Quotidian  happenings  in  the  development 
of  the  individual  have  been  raised  to  high  dignity.  All  of 
this  change  has  brought  a  consequent  change  in  the  poetic 
drama;  the  scope  of  the  playwright  has  become  wider  with 
the  development  throughout  the  world  of  more  democratic 
tendencies  in  society.  The  entire  progression  is  indicated 


232  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

by  Maeterlinck's  statement  that  whereas  once  there  was 
no  poetry  in  drama  save  that  which  narrated  the  passion  of 
a  lover  like  Romeo  or  Tristan  or  Paolo,  now  a  cottager 
seated  alone  by  a  lighted  lamp  in  the  midst  of  the  forces  of 
Fate,  is  more  vitally  true,  and  more  profoundly  significant 
for  us  all.  Violent  activity  must  be  attached  to  a  spiritual 
centre,  to  what  Coleridge  terms  a  point  of  relative  rest. 

The  poetic  drama  is  therefore  in  the  process  of  adjustment; 
when  we  demand  it  for  our  stage,  we  do  so  with  precon 
ceived  notions  of  literary  excellence  and  of  poetic  fervor 
which,  when  put  to  test,  fail  to  stimulate  the  active  curiosity 
of  external  vision,  and  clog  the  dramatic  progression  by  an 
overplus  of  "  sublime  images,"  —  in  themselves  demanding 
a  slow  mind.  Drama  moves  continuously;  the  poetic  drama, 
with  its  demand  upon  imagination,  its  appeal  to  the  moral 
judgment,  and  its  lack  of  "corporal  dimensions,"  requires 
to  be  read.  The  mind  of  the  reader  must  be  allowed  to  turn 
back;  the  mind  of  an  audience  can  never  turn  back. 

The  poet  who  writes  for  the  stage  should  ever  remember 
that  the  average  theatre  judges  him  by  his  explicit  word; 
through  this  is  the  implicit  meaning  caught.  Most  attempts 
of  the  unskilled  playwrights  to  deal  with  symbolism  have 
resulted  in  an  inevitable  quality  of  indefiniteness  —  mere 
decoration  without  the  fundamental  surety  of  nature  be 
neath.  For  even  imagination  has  its  consistency;  we  under 
stand  only  in  so  far  as  we  ourselves  have  experienced.  Hence, 
when  Lowell  claimed  that  to  be  a  mystic  gave  no  one  the 
license  to  be  misty,  he  meant  that  no  matter  how  deeply 
ingrained  are  the  elements  of  life  in  art,  they  must  not  baffle 
one  who  is  sufficiently  developed  to  be  on  that  plane  of 
comprehension. 

It  is  well  to  approach  our  subject  from  these  various 
indirect  channels,  for  the  poetic  drama  is  not  a  special  form, 
per  se;  but,  to  our  manner  of  thinking,  any  play  in  which 


DRAMATIZING  POETIC  DRAMA         233 

humanity  is  raised  to  the  heights  of  greatest  spiritual  ac 
tivity  or  fulfilment.  Poetry,  therefore,  becomes  only  one 
of  the  numerous  factors  that  make  drama  what  it  is.  Blank 
verse  does  not  constitute  the  poetic  drama,  though  some 
may  think  so;  heightened  speech,  so  beyond  the  realm  of 
consistent  usage,  is  not  its  distinguishing  mark.  Poetry 
may  only  hope  to  have  its  significant  place  on  the  stage 
when  it  expresses  spiritual  quality  and  psychological  strength, 
amidst  environment  which  allows  of  such  intensive  develop 
ment,  and  yet  which  remains  familiar. 

"  Art  for  art's  sake,"  said  Mr.  Herne,  who  in  America  has 
thus  far  come  nearest  giving  us  the  poetry  of  the  common 
life,  "is  mere  decoration,  but  I  will  not  take  the  truth  for 
truth's  sake  with  the  realist,  unless  it  be  the  essential  truth." 
Hence,  our  new  poetic  drama  will  occupy  a  position  much 
like  the  oft-conceived  "  third  empire,"  so  carefully  developed 
by  Ibsen;  consistent  art  with  consistent  truth,  art  con 
sistent  with  truth,  essential  art  with  essential  truth  —  these 
are  the  statements.  Ibsen  has  shown  the  vital  meaning  in 
the  common  thing;  Emerson  has  told  the  common  man 
of  the  vital  thing.  From  the  mystic  and  the  realist  com 
bined,  we  in  America  should  be  able  to  evolve  a  poetic  drama. 
We  are  not  lacking  the  content  but  the  form. 

The  inevitable  conclusion  stares  us  in  the  face.  Our  great 
English  poets  wrote  for  the  theatre,  and  most  of  them  failed ; 
Macready  thrust  Browning  to  the  fore;  Irving  preserved 
Tennyson  for  a  while.  It  is  wrong  to  say,  as  though  there 
were  a  constitutional  incompatibility  between  the  two,  that 
the  reason  why  these  men  failed  lay  in  the  fact  that  liter 
ature  is  divorced  from  the  stage.  The  real  matter  is  that 
the  poet,  however  much  he  might  love  the  theatre,  has  never 
mastered  the  technique.  The  miniature  painter  and  the 
mural  artist  do  not  use  the  same  brush,  though  the  latter 
might  find  it  necessary  at  times  to  employ  a  hair  line. 


234  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Shall  we,  therefore,  have  to  confess  that  the  poetic  drama 
needs  to  be  dramatized.  This  is  only  a  facetious  way  of 
saying  that  out  of  a  mass  of  beauty  and  fancy,  of  imagi 
nation  and  meditation,  the  poetic  drama  must  be  lifted  into 
a  plane  of  kinship  with  common  sense  and  human  develop 
ment.  In  Chicago,  as  I  have  already  noted,  "  Macbeth  " 
was  given  before  a  nickelodeon  audience  in  moving-pictures; 
the  police  had  to  stop  the  performance,  so  violent  the  action; 
the  whole  spiritual  quality  of  the  piece  had  been  sacrificed 
for  the  shell.  The  poetic  drama  has  suffered  from  the  other 
extreme ! 

Coleridge,  metaphysician  though  he  was,  nevertheless 
realized  the  need  for  a  reconciliation  between  characters  as 
they  exist  ordinarily  with  their  manner  and  speech,  and 
the  same  characters  idealized  in  proportion,  stressed  in 
language,  filling  a  large  destiny  rather  than  doing  an  ordin 
ary  deed.  Until  Ibsen  arrived,  we  had  only  a  vague  notion 
as  to  the  utilization  of  the  commonplace  on  the  stage;  we 
were  told  by  the  text-books  that  a  play  dealt  only  with  the 
significant  moments  in  the  development  of  the  individual 
—  and  by  significant  they  meant  violent  or  picturesque. 
The  melodramatists  abused  this  idea,  the  romanticists  and 
sentimentalists  conventionalized  it.  Then  Ibsen,  even 
though  tarred  with  the  pitch  of  Scribe,  wrote  "A  Doll's 
House,"  and  soon  followed  it  with  the  white-heat  realism 
of  "Ghosts,"  and  brought  the  soul  out  of  its  shreds  and 
patches  into  the  familiar  light  of  day  —  familiar  and  some 
times  cruel,  though  hardly  unnecessary. 

The  little  moments  in  life  pulsed  with  vitality;  Ibsen 
used  the  ordinary  speech  of  intercourse,  and  surcharged  it 
with  spiritual  intensity.  Curiously,  before  Ibsen  was  known 
in  America,  Mr.  Herne  had  exemplified  by  his  "Margaret 
Fleming"  what  depths  lay  in  the  tragic  of  the  common 
place;  he  had  instinctively  worked  out  for  himself,  despite 


DRAMATIZING  POETIC  DRAMA         235 

the  fact  he  was  forced  back  into  the  old  subterfuges  of  the 
melodramatist,  the  whole  theory  of  the  active  presence  of 
hidden  forces  —  a  recognition  which  quickens  the  entire 
gamut  of  life  and  raises  the  ordinary  into  the  realm  of  the 
poetic. 

When  Mrs.  LeMoyne  presented  "A  Blot  in  the  'Scutch 
eon,"  the  one  of  Browning's  plays  nearest  stage  require 
ments,  the  weight  and  beauty  of  the  lines  turned  the  audience 
into  passive  listeners  of  something  being  read  aloud.  We 
forgive  in  opera  what  we  will  not  countenance  in  drama; 
long  recitative  passages  are  colored  by  music  which  serves 
as  the  necessary  stimulant  to  emotion.  The  poetic  drama 
popularly  conceived,  needs  to  be  relieved  of  its  overweight. 
Percy  Mackaye's  "Sappho  and  Phaon"  and  Stephen 
Phillips's  "  Ulysses  "  suffered  from  this  accentuation  of  beauty 
to  the  detriment  of  motive  power;  Hauptmann's  "The 
Sunken  Bell,"  with  all  the  excellence  of  its  symbolic  texture, 
dragged  in  the  moralizing  speeches  which  dulled  the  mind. 
The  same  heaviness  is  evident  in  Ridgely  Torrence's  "El 
Dorado"  (1903)  and  "Abelard  and  Heloise"  (1907).  The 
need  for  dramatization  is  commensurate  with  the  wearying 
effect  upon  the  average  audience. 

Maeterlinck,  after  having  tested  a  theory  of  the  unex 
pressed  in  drama,  so  marvelously  worked  out  in  "The  In 
truder,"  finally  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  "whatever 
the  temptation,  he  [the  dramatist]  dare  not  sink  into  in 
activity,  become  mere  philosopher  or  observer;"  he  learned 
through  experience  with  his  "puppet  theatre"  that  no 
situation  should  be  held  in  abeyance  to  profundity  of  speech. 
The  poet,  according  to  Coleridge,  has  handicapped  his  success 
in  drama  through  certain  self-conceit;  he  has  forced  the  actor, 
who  is  supposed  to  interpret  character,  to  stand  still  and 
read  long  descriptions  of  his  own  psychology,  when,  if  he 
be  a  real  actor,  he  could  have  suggested  all  by  a  flash  of 


236  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

expression  or  a  gesture.  It  is  true,  as  Henry  Arthur 
Jones  intimates,  that  realism  is  only  justifiable  where  there 
is  spiritual  beauty  beyond;  poetic  license  has  too  often 
tried  to  find  justification  in  moral  degradation,  defying  all 
the  laws  of  reality  and  of  truth. 

If  this  be  so,  we  may  turn  to  Shaw's  comments  on  Shake 
speare,  the  essence  of  which  is  expressed  in  his  belief  that 
wherever  emotional  climaxes  are  reached,  "  we  find  passages 
which  are  Rossinian  in  their  reliance  on  symmetry  of  melody 
and  irnpressiveness  of  march  to  redeem  poverty  of  meaning." 
His  quarrel  with  the  theatre  of  Shakespeare  is  our  quarrel 
with  the  general  conception  of  the  position  poetry  occupies 
in  drama.  Most  poets  regard  the  drama,  not  as  a  reflex,  a 
transcript  of  life,  but  as  a  commentary  on  life,  expressed 
through  the  medium  of  dialogue;  they  subject  everything 
to  their  own  artistic  needs,  believing,  no  doubt,  that  the 
predominance  of  true  poetry  will  cover  up  the  lack  of  drama, 
whereas  it  only  serves  to  accentuate  the  fact  that  drama 
is  not  there. 

The  commendable  feature  about  William  Vaughn 
Moody 's  "The  Great  Divide"  is  found  in  his  proper,  though 
not  perfect,  use  of  the  poetic  content  in  the  dramatic  mould ; 
it  possesses  elemental  largeness,  and  its  characters  are  hu 
man,  retaining  their  average  proportions  in  the  midst  of  their 
spiritual  aspirations  and  expansion.  Mr.  Mackaye's  "The 
Scarecrow,"  based  on  Hawthorne,  attempts  almost  success 
fully  to  combine  the  hidden  force  with  the  outward  expression, 
but  he  does  not  quite  reach  the  texture  of  New  England 
conscience.1 

A  surprising  proportion  of  any  poetic  play  deals  either  with 
irrelevant  imagery,  or  with  mental  introspection  which 
precedes  action.  From  speech,  it  falls  into  declamation; 

1  In  its  acted  form,  however,  with  Mr.  Frank  Reicher  in  the  title 
it  was  most  effective. 


DRAMATIZING  POETIC  DRAMA         237 

from  character  it  passes  into  nothing  more  than  a  vehicle  for 
theory  or  poetic  idea,  cut  aloof  from  the  essential  meaning 
of  the  moment.  That  is  what  Israel  Zangwill's  "The  Melt 
ing  Pot"  suffers  from,  apart  from  his  abominable  method 
of  seeking  humor.  His  hero  does  not  express  the  conviction 
which  lies  within,  but  utters  Mr.  Zangwill's  apostrophes 
upon  that  migration  of  races  whose  fusion  will  some  day 
constitute  the  American  people.  A  note  of  insincerity 
results  where  bombast  predominates;  Dickens's  American 
Eagle  crying  ha,  ha!  is  not  an  agreeable  picture.  Yet  speech 
after  speech,  poetic  in  scope,  was  thrust  upon  ZangwilFs 
hero  relentlessly. 

We  know  that  life  is  greater  than  drama;  that  art,  what 
ever  its  form,  is  only  a  means  of  expressing  our  comprehension 
of  the  life  in  which  we  find  ourselves.  But  most  of  our  poets 
who  have  attempted  drama  have  not  realized  how  close 
to  life  drama  really  is.  It  is  not  a  vehicle,  but  an  expression; 
it  does  not  hold,  but  it  gives  out.  "Peter  Pan"  represents 
the  genius  of  Barrie,  dramatizing  Wordsworth's  "Heaven 
lies  about  us  in  our  infancy,"  in  terms  of  common  experience 
and  of  eternal  truth.  "  What  Every  Woman  Knows "  and 
"  Quality  Street "  do  not  defy  the  laws  of  the  familiar,  yet 
both  plays  are  shot  through  with  the  poetry  of  sentiment. 

Far  from  disparaging  the  poetic  drama,  we  claim  that 
our  stage  thirsts  for  it.  Yet  we  do  not  blame  the  manager 
for  being  wary  of  the  conventional  form,  wrhich  has  neither 
profited  by  Maeterlinck  nor  learned  of  Ibsen.  The  pulse  of 
life  throbs  through  the  land;  there  is  in  our  mundane  exist 
ence  the  call  to  higher  things;  from  the  wheat  fields  year 
after  year  comes  the  cry  for  labor  —  the  epic  cry  from  the 
soil.  The  poet  stands  confused  before  the  dilemma.  "  How," 
he  questions,  "shall  I  reconcile  the  poetic  language  with 
the  man  of  wage,  with  the  machinery  of  utility,  with  the 
average  moments  of  life?"  Man  has  his  exalted  feelings, 


238  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

even  when  his  feet  are  firmly  planted  upon  earth.  I  remem 
ber  once  walking  along  a  country  road  with  Clyde  Fitch; 
we  passed  a  fleshy,  grimy  beer-driver  in  the  open  field,  with 
a  flower  in  his  apology  for  a  buttonhole.  "There,"  said 
Mr.  Fitch,  "is  the  poetry  of  ordinary  existence." 

At  supreme  moments,  language,  thought,  spirit,  become 
supreme.  The  blacksmith  may  talk  in  the  poetry  of  his 
uncouth  prose;  but  no  one  can  take  from  him  the  purity 
of  his  feeling  when  his  feeling  is  pure,  or  the  high  resolution 
of  his  character,  when  circumstance  and  situation  prompt 
it  to  act,  or  the  strength  of  his  primal  being  when  he  is  strong. 
The  poet  must  not  mould  his  character  to  suit  a  precon 
ceived  notion;  in  drama  one  must  be  true  to  life  rather 
than  to  the  conventions  of  art.  We  know  of  no  form  for  the 
theatre  other  than  drama  —  drama  which  is  divided  into 
relative  grades,  dependent  upon  the  predominance  of  certain 
artistic  qualities.  Even  in  dealing  with  the  unseen,  Maeter 
linck  never  fails  to  refer  to  "active"  forces.  Only  on  rare 
occasions  does  the  average  person  speak  aloud  to  himself; 
that  is  why  the  soliloquy  has  fallen  into  ill-favor.  And  so, 
one  by  one,  the  conventions  of  drama  are  disproven. 

We  need  another  name  for  that  play  which  we  have  been 
accustomed  to  call  "poetic  drama";  we  need  to  discover 
that  the  old  form  has  falsified  beauty,  since  it  has  taken  it 
away  from  character,  from  life.  Only  when  we  have  written  a 
real  drama  in  which  poetry  occupies  its  essential  position 
in  relation  to  life,  will  we  cease  in  our  belief  that  the  poetic 
drama  needs  to  be  dramatized. 


CHAPTER  XV 

SUNLIGHT,    MOONLIGHT,    AND   FOOTLIGHT 

IT  is  a  healthy  condition  for  us  to  have  reached  in  drama, 
when  we  become  conscious  of  its  presence  in  the  community, 
and  when  we  are  furthermore  made  aware  of  its  power, 
both  positive  and  negative.  For  after  all,  it  is  not  through 
accident  that  the  theatre  was  established,  but  as  a  result 
of  the  fundamental  instinct  for  expression  and  as  a  symbol 
of  some  over-towering  emotion,  within  the  experience  of 
us  all.  The  old  tribal  wcero,  or  songs  of  grief,  so  excellently 
discussed  by  Professor  Gummere,  while  more  primitive 
in  form  and  more  elemental  in  idea  than  the  modern  civic 
response  to  condition,  are  not  so  very  far  removed  in  the 
communal  pyschology  which  necessitated  them,  from  the 
present  social  response  which  Le  Bon  has  analyzed  in  his 
treatise  on  "  The  Crowd."  * 

Hence,  the  theatre  is  founded  upon  what  might  almost 
be  termed  an  immutable  masonry  of  human  need.  We  could 
change  Pinero's  wisdom  in  "  Mid-Channel,"  and  direct  it  to 
our  ends  by  saying  that  since  man  and  woman  and  the  shape 
of  a  hen's  egg  are  the  constant  facts  of  life,  the  theatre  is 

1  See  chapter  in  Clayton  Hamilton's  "The  Theory  of  the 
Theatre"  on  "The  Psychology  of  Theatre  Audiences,"  pp.  30-58; 
also  W.  P.  Eaton's  "The  American  Stage  of  To-day,"  in  which 
there  is  a  chapter  on  "Crowds  and  Mr.  Hamilton,"  pp.  282-90; 
also  Professor  Brander  Matthews'  "A  Study  of  the  Drama,"  Chap 
ter  IV,  "The  Influence  of  the  Audience,"  pp.  68-91. 


240  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

placed  beyond  human  endowment,  and  finds  its  sanction 
in,  nay  more,  is  coincident  with,  the  very  act  of  living. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  we  have,  for  the  instant,  lost  sight 
of  the  reasons  why  the  theatre  exists,  even  though  we  are 
growing  more  and  more  conscious  of  its  importance  as  a 
social  institution  and  as  a  cultural  and  an  educational  force; 
we  are  also  not  quite  sure  in  our  minds  whether  we  have  a 
right  to  enjoy  what  we  enjoy,  even  though  public  decency 
bars  "The  Moulin  Rouge"  from  the  theatre,  and  establishes 
a  censorship  for  moving-pictures. 

In  our  attitude  toward  the  playhouse,  we  are  constantly 
contradicting  ourselves,  possibly  because  we  find,  with 
Goethe,  that  it  is  easier  to  do  than  to  think.  That  is  char 
acteristic  of  communal  restlessness,  if  Le  Bon  is  right  in 
his  assertion  that  an  idea  must  be  transmuted  into  action; 
therefore,  excessive  sentiment  and  symbols  are  representa 
tive  of  popular  taste. 

The  theatre  is  not  only  a  source  of  amusement,  but  it 
should  be  a  source  of  the  right  kind  of  amusement;  that  is 
the  only  way  in  which  it  will  ever  become  permanently 
instructive;  through  vital  interest  rather  than  through  set 
and  deadly  purpose  will  it  ever  hope  to  mould  public  opinion. 
If  the  Mayor  of  Philadelphia  was  over-cautious  in  prohibit 
ing  the  New  Theatre  company  from  presenting  Galsworthy's 
"Strife"  in  that  city,  for  fear  that  its  labor  motive  would 
draw  fire  from  the  car  strikers  then  at  war  (1910),  the  New 
Theatre  was  unwise  in  heralding  its  mission  —  which  was 
to  clear  the  atmosphere  of  Philadelphia  with  a  little  of  Gals 
worthy's  philosophy  about  capital  and  labor. 

Yet  the  incident  is  significant,  for  it  points  to  one  of  the 
essential  functions  of  the  theatre  —  to  prompt  civic  thought; 
and  it  likewise  indicates  its  true  relation  to  the  civic  body. 
It  is  necessary  to  emphasize  these  conditions,  inasmuch 
as  our  present  discussion  is  to  deal  with  communal  con 
sciousness  of  art  and  civic  interest  in  art. 


SUNLIGHT,   MOONLIGHT,   FOOTLIGHT      241 

Never,  within  the  past  twenty  years,  have  we  had  more 
cause  to  be  encouraged  than  over  the  present  status  of  drama 
in  this  country.  This  is  not  due  to  the  efforts  of  the  Froh- 
mans,  the  Shuberts,  or  any  other  theatrical  concern,  although 
many  of  their  productions  have  been  good;  it  is  not  because 
of  the  existence  of  a  New  Theatre,  though  the  presence  of 
such  an  institution  was  an  incentive  to  high  endeavor;  it 
is  not  due  to  the  special  faddist  who  takes  up  drama,  though 
such  patronizing  may  improve  the  dilettante  without  harm 
ing  the  theatre.  But  beneath  these  outward  activities  flows 
the  deep  and  abiding  current  of  our  natures,  and  when  a 
whole  people's  sense  of  life  becomes  quickened,  when  its 
intelligence  grows  keener,  its  emotion  more  clearly  defined, 
its  specific  knowledge  of  an  institution  more  marked  —  in 
other  words,  when  there  is  centred  upon  the  theatre,  as 
emanating  from  an  interested  public,  a  radium  spot  of  under 
standing,  the  civic  consciousness  smarts  under  the  necessity 
for  maintaining  some  standard  of  theatrical  taste. 

At  first  glance,  this  condition  may  not  be  evident,  but 
we  only  have  to  ask  ourselves  why  —  apart  from  public 
love  of  novelty  —  we  are  interested  in  revivals,  to  reach 
some  basis  for  hope  that  our  theatre  public  has  awakened 
from  its  slothfulness,  its  indifference,  its  prejudice.  There 
were  profound  humanity  and  deep,  universal  spirituality 
in  "Everyman"  when  first  it  was  brought  to  this  country; 
no  amount  of  archaeology  could  destroy  its  universal  ap 
plication.  There  was  delicate  realization  of  the  poetry  of 
motion,  when  the  Greek  dances,  so  charmingly  interpreted 
by  Isadora  Duncan,  were  first  offered  to  the  public.  The 
fact  that  these  dances  have  been  overdone  to  the  point  of 
gross  suggestiveness  does  not  alter  our  belief  in  the  dance 
as  an  undying  expression  of  communal  emotion. 

In  the  history  of  the  past  ten  years,  the  many  revivals, 
offered  to  the  theatre-goers  have  developed  an  interest  in 


242  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

the  historical  phase  of  the  drama,  have  encouraged  the 
collegiate  body  to  reproduce  —  in  the  spirit  of  accuracy  — 
old  dramas,  rather  than  waste  energy  on  some  pale  imitation 
of  the  conventional  comic  opera.  Hence  we  find  the  Yale 
Dramatic  Association  presenting  Ibsen's  "The  Pretenders" 
and  Sheridan's  "The  Critic,"  while  the  New  York  City 
College  has  spent  commendable  effort  on  Massenger's  "A 
New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts."  Not  to  be  outdone,  for  Ben 
Greet  is  the  real,  true  father  of  this  archaic  impulse  in  America, 
as  William  Poel  is  in  England,  the  Greet  Players  have  ap 
peared  in  Marlowe's  "  Dr.  Faustus."  You  may  ask  if  this  has 
any  appreciable  effect  upon  public  taste.  The  result  may 
not  be  immediate,  but  the  impress  on  public  consciousness, 
however  slight,  is  nevertheless  apparent.1 

1  Professor  George  P.  Baker  of  Harvard  University,  and  Profes 
sor  Brander  Matthews  of  Columbia  University,  give  distinctive 
courses  in  drama  to  their  students.  The  Harvard  Dramatic  Club 
was  the  first  organization  to  present  Percy  Mackaye's  "The  Scare 
crow."  On  the  historical  side  of  Professor  Baker's  work,  Mr.  Mac- 
kaye,  Jules  Goodman,  author  of  "Mother,"  Miss  Beulah; Marie  Dix, 
part-author  of  a  fantastical  piece  called  "The  Road  to  Yester 
day,"  Miss  Josephine  Preston  Peabody,  Winthrop  Ames, 
former  director  of  The  New  Theatre,  John  Corbin,  and  W.  P. 
Eaton  were  students.  Five  years  ago  a  course  in  dramaturgic 
technique  was  started,  resulting  in  the  success  of  Edward  Sheldon 
author  of  "Salvation  Nell,"  "The  Nigger,"  and  "The  Boss."  To 
further  this  technical  training,  the  Macdowell  Club  has  estab 
lished  at  Harvard  a  Macdowell  Fellowship  for  the  encouragement 
of  young  playwrights.  Professor  Robert  W.  Herrick  of  the  Uni 
versity  of  Chicago,  gives  courses  in  dramatic  composition  and  in 
the  analysis  of  plays.  It  will  be  remembered  also  that  William 
Vaughn  Moody  came  from  the  University  of  Chicago. 

Whereas  Professor  Baker's  method  deals  with  the  theory  of 
drama,  Professor  Matthews  adheres  to  the  historical  side,  well 
indicated  in  his  book,  "A  Study  of  the  Drama."  Not  that  he 
ignores  the  physical  aspects  of  the  theatre,  but  he  believes  that 
the  very  physical  outlines  of  the  playhouse  limit  the  play.  Under 
his  tutelage,  William  De  Mille,  Louis  E.  Shipman,  George  Middleton, 
and  George  Broadhurst,  have  met  with  success.  In  this  matter  of  the 
university's  interest  in  drama,  it  is  well  to  note  that  Syracuse  Uni- 


SUNLIGHT,   MOONLIGHT,   FOOTLIGHT     243 

Let  us  confess  that  some  of  these  revivals,  though  in 
structive,  are  wearisome.  They  are  not  as  diverting  as  Nora 
Bayes  singing  "Kelly"  in  "The  Jolly  Bachelors,"  or  as 
Blanche  Ring  singing  " Yip-i-y addy "  in  "The  Midnight 
Sons."  If,  in  some  respects,  they  seem  far  away  from  us, 
the  reason  is  very  largely  technical.  As  Professor  Matthews 
has  shown  in  his  most  recent  book  on  the  drama,1  a  play  is 
intimately  related  to  the  stage  for  which  it  was  originally 
written.  The  changes  which  are  requisite  in  a  Shakespeare 
text  for  the  modern  stage  are  indicative  in  a  measure  of  the 
differences  between  the  Globe  Theatre  and  the  New  Theatre. 
It  is  quite  a  natural  consequence  that  Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell 
should  fail  to  convey  the  Greek  spirit,  when,  within  the 
frame  of  a  proscenium  arch,  she  presented  a  poor  English 
translation  of  a  German  version  of  "Electra,"  instead  of 
Gilbert  Murray's  translation  of  the  original.  But  let  the 
proper  setting  be  employed  with  the  latter,  as  is  possible 
in  the  Greek  amphitheatre  at  the  University  of  California, 
and  it  is  not  so  difficult  to  impress  one  with  the  proportion 
and  unity  and  unerring  beauty  of  an  ancient  drama,  even 
though  its  conventions  are  no  longer  incumbent,  and  its 
manner  far  removed. 

We  have  dropped  many  adjuncts  of  the  theatre  because 
we  have  tried  to  limit  the  world  of  drama  to  the  horizon 
of  the  footlights.  We  have  devoted  ourselves  so  insistently 
to  subtle  considerations  of  the  clash  of  individual  will  with 
individual  will,  that  we  have  let  slip  an  expression  of  art 
which  results  from  such  a  principle  as  Le  Bon's  that  "col- 

versity  produces  original  plays;  that  H.  J.  Savage  of  Tufts  College, 
Professor  Gayley  of  the  University  of  California,  Professor  Richard 
Burton  of  the  University  of  Minnesota,  Professor  W.  L.  Phelpa 
of  Yale  University,  Professor  F.  W.  Chandler  of  the  University  of 
Cincinnati,  and  Professor  S.  M.  Tucker  of  the  Brooklyn  Poly 
technic,  are  actively  engaged  in  furthering  the  work. 
1  "  A  Study  of  the  Drama."  Houghton,  1910. 


244  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

lectivities  alone  are  capable  of  great  disinterestedness  and 
great  devotion." 

In  other  words,  while  the  modern  drama  is  attempting 
through  types  to  appeal  to  an  ever  increasing  aggregate  of 
individuals,  our  theatre  is  ignoring  the  communal  joys  and 
sorrows,  hopes  and  fears,  with  which  all  peoples  of  the 
same  nation  are  endowed.  Du  Maurier's  "  An  Englishman's 
Home'*  could  not  stand  close,  logical  analysis,  but  granted 
its  premises,  and  it  is  easy  to  understand  why  it  stirred 
the  patriotism  of  Great  Britain.  It  is  the  melodrama  of 
life  which  appeals  to  the  crowd. 

If  one  reads  dramatic  history  correctly,  therefore,  it  is 
very  evident  that  while  forms  change  and  the  methods  of 
appeal  alter,  the  psychology  of  the  crowd  remains  funda 
mentally  the  same.  Not  only  is  this  true,  but  even  though 
our  audiences  are  herded  together  under  the  same  roof,  and 
no  longer,  as  a  general  rule,  cling  to  the  hillside  beneath  a 
clear  sky,  they  go  to  the  Hippodrome  as  of  yore,  even  though 
the  spectacle  is  less  violent  than  the  ancient  one;  they 
witness  Ibsen's  "Ghosts,"  not  realizing  its  nearness  to 
"(Edipus";  they  applaud  Pavlowa  and  Mordkin,  and  are 
gripped  by  the  ecclesiasticism  of  the  Middle  Ages,  found  in 
Maeterlinck's  "Sister  Beatrice." 

The  footlights,  the  picture  frame  of  the  proscenium  arch, 
the  orchestra,  all  tend  toward  making  the  theatre  more 
intimate  and  more  subtle.  Hence,  in  the  legitimate  drama 
there  is  a  group  sentiment  rather  than  a  communal  sweep, 
a  more  calculating  effect  or  artifice  than  appeals  to  a  great 
crowd.  In  fact,  the  more  delicate  an  actor's  art,  the  more 
limited  his  immediate  influence,  as  far  as  the  numbers  of 
his  audience  are  concerned.  No  one  could  regard  the  exten 
sive  spectacle  of  Schiller's  "The  Maid  of  Orleans,"  as  given 
by  Miss  Maude  Adams  before  fifteen  thousand  spectators 
in  the  Harvard  Stadium,  as  any  thing  more  than  an  interesting 


SUNLIGHT,  MOONLIGHT,  FOOTLIGIIT     245 

pageant,  totally  unsuited  for  any  other  than  visual  effect. 
When  the  city  of  Gloucester,  Massachusetts,  celebrated  in 
1909  its  founding  by  an  elaborate  fete,  during  which  Percy 
Mackaye's  "  Canterbury  Pilgrims  "  was  mounted  in  gorgeous 
processional,  another  fifteen  thousand  were  moved  in  the 
spirit  of  popular  appreciation  of  broad  color  and  large  en 
semble.  In  neither  of  these  attempts  did  the  interest  proceed 
deeper  than  that  created  by  novelty,  but  both  of  them  to 
a  great  extent  suggested  the  possibility  of  a  communal  art, 
distinctively  American  in  its  image  and  in  its  historical 
significance. 

Shall  the  theatre,  therefore,  be  taken  at  times  from  the 
footlight  into  the  sunlight  and  the  moonlight?  Is  that  the 
quickest  and  best  way  of  developing  a  civic  consciousness 
of  theatrical  art?  We  look  back  on  the  Hudson-Fulton 
celebration  (1909),  with  its  water  pageant  rather  devoid  of 
intent  in  the  day,  but  brilliantly  aglow  at  night,  with  its 
floats  far  less  artistically  conceived  than  the  Mardi  Gras 
groups  in  New  Orleans,  and  we  wonder  whether  this  carry 
ing  of  the  art  impulse  into  the  open,  beneath  the  sunlight 
or  the  moonlight,  will  tend  to  sharpen  civic  appreciation,  or 
simply  to  cater  to  a  liking  for  bulk.  For  even  a  processional 
demands  the  preservation  of  sequence  as  well  as  the  main 
tenance  of  association;  it  necessitates  the  participation  of 
citizens  rather  than  the  employment  of  professional  actors. 

Once  more  we  have  Ben  Greet  to  thank  for  turning  our 
eyes  from  the  footlight  to  the  sunlight  and  the  moonlight. 
It  was  about  seven  years  ago  that,  with  the  inestimable 
assistance  of  Miss  Edith  Wynne  Matthison,  he  brought 
Shakespeare  into  the  open,  and  the  warm  sunlight  of  a  sum 
mer  afternoon  played  fitfully  on  Rosalind's  hair,  while  in  the 
evening  the  moon  suffused  "A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream" 
with  a  fairy  quality  which  no  incandescence  could  effect. 

That  initial  impulse  was  followed  later  by  other  move- 


246  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

ments.  It  encouraged  colleges  to  amateur  endeavor;  it 
made  possible  the  Coburn  Players;  it  suggested  festivals 
to  small  communities  and  to  social  groups  in  crowded  quarters 
of  our  cities.  In  other  words,  though  we  harked  back  to 
the  archaic,  we  realized  that  it  was  only  to  pick  up  some  art 
instinct  which  might  just  as  well  be  developed  to-day  as  it 
was  in  the  time  when  guilds  were  civically  responsible  for 
their  parts  in  royal  and  religious  processionals. 

This  latest  evidence  of  revival,  therefore,  is  not  in  a  true 
sense  a  revival,  but  a  resumption  of  communal  expressive 
ness.  Throughout  the  country  there  is  an  incentive  to  sym 
bolize  historic  association  —  at  the  opening  of  a  bridge,  in 
commemoration  of  the  discovery  of  a  river,  in  celebration 
of  a  country's  past,  or  in  the  tercentenary  of  a  city's  founding. 
There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  such  an  impulse,  sanely 
directed,  will  become  properly  instructive,  and  will  exert  an 
influence  on  popular  taste. 

When  art  is  brought  into  the  sunlight  it  must  be  buoyant 
and  not  self-conscious;  it  has  to  shape  itself,  not  to  the  one, 
two,  three  of  theatrical  mechanism,  but  to  the  pulsating 
vagaries  of  nature.  Rosalind's  voice  must  be  suited  to  the 
twitter  of  winging  birds,  her  laugh  must  wait  upon  the  echo 
of  itself.  I  have  seen  " Twelfth  Night"  in  the  starlight,  when 
the  actors'  voices  were  resonant  with  a  peculiar  aloofness, 
accentuated  by  swaying  trees  and  by  the  expressive  silence 
of  sleeping  things.  Nature  seems  to  play  with  art  in  the 
open;  that  is  why  art  must  play  with  nature.  For  sunlight 
tends  toward  the  real  emotion  and  moonlight  toward  the 
dreams  of  an  exalted  spirit,  while  both  demand  that  artifice 
approach  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  essence  of  art,  and  that 
the  shadow  of  a  feeling  be  as  expressive  as  the  shadow  of 
a  leaf. 

The  time  has  arrived  for  us  to  make  use  of  our  natural 
resources  in  our  communal  expression.  This  does  not  mean 


SUNLIGHT,   MOONLIGHT,   FOOTLIGHT     247 

that  we  must  desert  the  theatre,  that  we  must  discount 
the  footlight.  It  simply  means  that  we  must  not  waste  the 
opportunities  offered  by  the  sun  and  moon.  It  means  that 
in  our  public  education  we  must  be  made  conscious  of  the 
fact  that  Nature  furnishes  us  with  stage  accessories  which 
only  a  communal  drama  may  utilize.  The  members  of  the 
Bohemian  Club  in  California,  with  their  red-wood  forest, 
have  revelled  in  this  consciousness  since  1878. 

Only  years  will  prove  whether  or  not  this  communal 
interest  will  some  day  result  in  a  special  folk-drama,  a  special 
folk-music,  a  special  folk-dance,  a  special  folk-pageant. 
Our  contention  is  that  the  time  is  just  as  propitious  now 
as  it  ever  was  in  any  period  of  dramatic  history.  It  is  only 
the  footlight  that  has  really  changed,  that  typifies  theatrical 
convention.  We  are  just  waking  up  to  the  fact  that  we  have 
let  slip  a  valuable  asset  in  art;  we  have  done  that,  even  though 
we  hear  everywhere  the  necessity  for  our  being  in  harmony 
with  Nature.  The  Greeks  utilized  sunlight  and  moonlight 
in  their  communal  expression;  but  we,  in  accord  with  our 
general  wastefulness  of  natural  resources,  have  been  artisti 
cally  blind  to  all  but  the  incandescent  bulb. 

When  audiences  take  to  the  open,  their  amusements  expand 
to  accord  with  the  space  around  them.  An  entirely  different 
set  of  values  has  to  be  reckoned  with.  The  open  invites 
only  that  kind  of  entertainment  which  harmonizes  with  the 
peace  and  quiet  of  the  hills  on  one  hand,  and  with  the  majesty 
and  beauty  of  the  scenery  on  the  other.  The  Greeks  drew 
religion  and  tragedy  from  the  secret  sources  of  Nature;  they 
conducted  their  dances,  they  sang  their  Bacchic  choruses, 
they  celebrated  their  national  sentiment  beneath  the  blue 
sky. 

Let  us  suppose  that  a  stadium  was  to  be  erected  in  New 
York  City.  Would  an  open-air  theatre  have  any  appreciable 
effect  upon  theatrical  condition?  Would  it  create  any 


248  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

special  type  of  dramatist,  other  than  poets  to  compose 
choral  odes,  like  those  Percy  Mackaye  created  for  his  father's 
dream,  "Columbus"?  Such  a  playhouse  could  have  no 
influence  whatever  upon  the  conventional  theatre,  save 
in  so  far  as  pageantry  and  patriotism  might  raise  the  art 
ideals  of  the  crowd  and  the  honesty  of  the  citizen.  In  the 
open  air,  we  can  never  hope  to  have  the  same  class  of  play 
that  is  given  us  in  the  closed-in  theatre.  Out  of  doors 
demands  something  strictly  pictorial.  For  subtlety  is  lost 
where  largeness  is  demanded,  and  delicacy  of  manner  has 
to  give  way  before  charm  of  movement.  "The  School  for 
Scandal"  would  scarcely  set  well  on  the  greensward  stage. 

Yet  masques  and  carnivals  and  pageants  and  civic  parades 
are  necessary  in  the  life  of  a  people,  and  a  public  stadium 
might  revive  old  customs  and  vivify  old  manners.  The 
open-air  theatre  invites  a  new  drama  and  encourages  an 
old  form.  Some  day,  Americans  may  find  themselves  with 
a  new  pageantry  of  such  magnitude  that  children  can  learn 
their  history  from  panorama  more  real  than  that  now  given 
them  in  the  moving-picture,  and  as  resplendent  as  that 
sustained  by  the  mediaeval  guilds  or  by  the  Elizabethan 
Courts.  On  public  holidays,  the  theatre  in  the  open  air 
affords  the  dramatist  a  new  outlet  for  expression  of  an 
expansive  kind. 

But  in  order  to  have  this  pageantry  of  high  excellence, 
a  species  of  pageant-master,  such  as  Percy  Mackaye  has 
repeatedly  described,  will  have  to  be  trained.  And  one  of 
the  first  things  he  will  have  to  do  will  be  to  keep  the  poet 
within  bounds,  for  the  greensward  stage  has  its  limitations, 
as  well  as  the  legitimate  theatre.  Yet  a  well-trained  pageant- 
master,  even  though  we  are  striving  for  sane  celebration  of 
Independence  Day  and  effective  demonstration  on  Columbus 
Day,  is  not  as  necessary  for  us  to  have  as  well-trained  stage 
managers  for  our  roofed  playhouses.  People  flock  to  the 


SUNLIGHT,   MOONLIGHT,   FOOTLIGHT     249 

hillside  for  a  game  of  football  or  baseball,  and  they  go  to  the 
parks  for  music  only  when  they  are  not  scared  away  from 
the  parks  by  programs  too  classical  for  their  tastes. 

People  participate  in  pageantry  when  there  is  an  anni 
versary  of  civic  import.  They  are  sure  to  seek  the  open 
for  amusement  of  a  democratic  sort.  Yet,  in  order  to  give 
people  drama  at  minimum  cost,  which  seems  to  be  the  aim 
of  social  workers,  it  is  not  necessary  to  go  to  the  open  as  the 
only  means,  especially  when  the  medium  of  Nature  does  not 
invite  the  modern  drama  distinctive  of  our  day. 

The  Civic  Theatre1  has  been  debated  as  often  as  a  National 
Theatre,  and  some  reformers  have  even  gone  so  far  as  to 
seek  a  Theatre  of  Ideas,  as  though  there  were  such  a  thing. 
What  New  York  has  debated  is  a  stadium,  run  as  our  parks 
are  run,  only  with  the  endeavor  to  keep  it  in  touch  with 
the  theatrical  life  of  the  city.  In  one  way,  this  might  re 
move  the  drama  of  a  spectacular  kind  from  the  hands  of 
the  commercial  manager,  and  place  it  in  control  of  politicians. 
A  Tammany  play  might  lead  to  the  revival  of  an  old-time 
custom  of  the  riot,  such  as  used  to  occur  on  the  London  stage 
when  the  pit  reigned  supreme! 

The  Hippodrome  has  for  several  years  past  presented 
large  splashes  of  color,  and  has  proven  a  success  only  when 
it  has  stayed  away  from  the  spoken  word.  We  hear  much 
about  what  an  educational  institution  might  do  for  the 
theatre,  but  has  any  institution  ever  approached  the  Shu- 
berts  and  asked  them  to  mount  an  historical  pageant  on 
the  Hippodrome  stage? 

It  is  well  for  a  city  to  drive  citizens  more  into  the  open, 

1  It  is  well  to  recall  the  excellent  endeavor  on  the  part  of  the  late 
Charles  Sprague  Smith,  Director  of  the  People's  Institute,  New 
York  City,  to  cooperate  with  the  theatrical  managers.  Reduced 
prices  were  offered  to  school  children  and  wage  earners,  and  plays 
were  recommended  by  a  committee.  The  idea  was  well  meaning,  but 
met  with  many  handicaps. 


250  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

to  educate  them  in  the  ways  of  Nature.  To  do  that,  there 
are  better  means  than  by  taking  the  theatre  and  making  it  sub 
servient  to  Nature.  The  pageant  is  educational  as  the  col 
lege  revivals  are  educational.  But  Nature  demands  a  play 
in  accord  with  her  own  humor.  "As  You  Like  It"  is  typical 
of  this  —  and  with  her  own  setting,  "  A  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream"  is  such  a  piece.  A  drama  that  will  train 
the  citizen's  ear  to  the  trill  of  a  lark  is  certainly  a  drama 
for  all  nations,  but  the  hope  for  a  national  drama  does  not 
lie  in  the  open-air  theatre,  even  though  the  hope  of  the  poet 
might  rest  upon  a  stadium  ode  or  a  pageant  choral. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FORMS   OF  AMERICAN   DRAMA 

I 

THE  American  theatre  has  created  no  special  form  of  drama; 
it  has  not  even  been  original  in  its  rhythm  of  expression. 
It  has  modified  types,  it  has  infused  much  picturesque 
detail  into  local  condition,  it  has  expressed  rather  crudely 
all  that  is  meant  by  American  "  uplift,"  but  it  has  done  so 
in  form  imitative  of  English  and  Continental  examples. 

But  at  the  present  time  the  American  theatre-goer  is 
becoming  conscious  of  form,  inasmuch  as  ideas  are  in  the 
air  which  cannot  be  satisfied  with  the  old  moulds.  If  Au 
gustus  Thomas  had  any  spark  of  mysticism  about  him,  he 
would  express  his  belief  in  telepathy  through  other  channels 
than  direct  narrative;  if  the  comic  opera  librettist  had  been 
brought  up  in  the  school  of  W.  S.  Gilbert,  his  "book"  would 
be  more  than  a  transitory  vehicle;  if  the  dramatist  who 
turns  novels  into  plays  only  realized  that  even  a  drama 
tization  has  a  technique  and  a  unity  apart  from  the  novel 
itself,  there  would  be  fewer  failures  in  that  direction. 

The  time  is  ripe  for  new  form,  and  the  only  way  in  which 
we  can  determine  what  that  shall  be  is  to  determine  the 
real,  true  meaning  of  fundamental  principles  underlying 
the  art.  In  our  day  we  have  seen  changes  and  modifications 
in  several  forms;  we  have  even  witnessed  the  creation  of 
special  moulds  for  special  amusements.  Melodrama  rose 
to  a  certain  pitch  of  violence,  then  waned;  musical  comedy 


252  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

developed  to  a  certain  point  and  remained  there;  rag-time 
music  shaped  a  lyric  as  ungainly  as  the  cake-walk  dance; 
vaudeville,  through  the  efforts  of  Tony  Pastor  and  later 
of  Proctor  and  Keith,  was  evolved  from  the  variety.  Yet, 
as  regards  the  latter,  we  have  seen  it  persist,  not  only  in 
vaudeville,  but  in  comic  opera  as  well. 

It  is  only  in  the  minor  forms  of  theatrical  art  that  we 
have  retrograded.  In  this  very  problem  of  comic  opera, 
we  have  reverted  far  from  such  a  type  of  musical  entertain 
ment  as  Gilbert  and  Sullivan  used  to  give.  Music,  song, 
and  dance  are  welded  together  in  a  "show"  that  depends 
more  on  its  topical  "hit"  than  on  any  meaning  the  piece  as 
a  whole  might  have.  Musical  comedy  is  now  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  the  means  of  exploiting  vaudeville  reputation 
and  variety  glitter. 

In  fact,  modern  musical  comedy  is  a  hybrid  type,  of 
which  the  original  was  John  Gay's  "The  Beggar's  Opera" 
(1728),  and  it  allows  one  to  introduce  any  feature  into  the 
entertainment  without  disturbing  the  plot.  Ask  Harry 
B.  Smith,  author  of  "Rob  Roy,"  "Robin  Hood,"  "The 
Fortune  Teller,"  and  "The  Wizard  of  the  Nile";  Henry 
Blossom,  who  wrote  the  "  books"  for  "The  Yankee  Consul," 
"Mile.  Modiste,"  and  "The  Red  Mill";  Frank  Pixley, 
who  did  "The  Burgomaster,"  "King  Dodo,"  and  "The 
Prince  of  Pilsen"  —  they  will  tell  you  that  the  chief  difficulty 
is  in  "boosting"  a  "book"  after  it  is  written,  in  securing 
the  proper  interpolated  lyrics.  George  V.  Hobart  not  only 
turns  out  scores  of  these  flimsy  "  books,"  but  he  is  regarded 
as  a  general  renovator.  Musical  comedy  is  in  constant 
need  of  a  steady  stream  of  oxygen. 

Fortunes  are  made  in  the  musical  comedy  field.  The 
cooperation  of  Edgar  Smith  with  Weber  and  Fields;  of 
John  McNally  with  the  Roger  Brothers;  the  individual 
coups  of  Glen  Macdonough's  "The  Wizard  of  Oz"  and 


FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA         253 

"Babes  in  Toyland,"  of  Owen  Hall's  " Florodora,"  of  Hugh 
Morton's  "The  Belle  of  New  York"  — these  are  sufficient 
evidences  of  the  popularity  of  the  form,  apart  from  its  perma 
nence  or  its  quality.  The  facts  are  these.  George  Ade's 
"The  Sultan  of  Sulu"  was  only  a  moderate  success,  yet  it 
brought  him  an  income.  George  M.  Cohan,  librettist, 
composer,  and  actor,  whose  songs  sell  also  in  the  music 
stores,  netting  him  a  royalty,  has  been  known  to  draw  over 
three  thousand  dollars  weekly  as  a  librettist  alone.  That 
is  what  "Little  Johnny  Jones,"  "Forty -five  Minutes  from 
Broadway,"  and  "Yankee  Doodle"  have  done  for  him. 

But  there  is  not  one  of  these  librettists  or  of  these  com 
posers  whose  work  will  withstand  more  than  a  decade. 
There  is  no  "book"  that  will  have  the  vitality  of  Gilbert's 
"Patience,"  or  "H.  M.  S.  Pinafore,"  or  "The  Mikado." 
Not  one  of  these  names  will  outlast  more  than  two  gener 
ations,  whereas  Meilhac  and  Halevy  are  unmistakably 
identified  with  Bizet  and  Prosper  Me*rimee  in  "Carmen." 
Even  such  a  transplanted  and  effective  piece  as  Lehar's 
"The  Merry  Widow"  will  be  imitated,  until  the  imitations 
dim  its  freshness.  For  the  "  book  "  is  poor. 

Experience  shows  that  musical  comedy  abhors  consistency; 
it  is  a  loose  type,  even  as  vaudeville  is  a  loose  type.  These 
forms  are  full  of  tricks.  Vaudeville,  it  is  true,  has  become 
legitimitized  by  the  introduction  of  the  high-class  artist, 
who  gives  a  form  of  play  in  which  our  American  dramatist 
would  do  well  to  indulge;  I  mean,  the  playlet.  And  the 
custom  has  now  become  so  fixed,  that  the  best  actor,  no 
matter  what  his  winter's  work  may  be,  does  not  disdain  the 
comfortable  fortune  awaiting  him  in  a  few  weeks'  vaude 
ville.  In  this  way  Henry  Miller  has  utilized  Clyde  Fitch's 
"Frederic  Lemaitre."  Vaudeville,  however,  has  the  per 
nicious  effect  of  moving-pictures;  the  audience  is  not  held 
by  any  unified  or  consecutive  interest;  it  is,  in  fact,  almost 


254          THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

as  casual  as  frequenters  of  the  nickelodeon  playhouses. 
Out  from  vaudeville  has  come  excellent  material,  not  of 
the  variety  type,  but  of  the  art  type.  Chevalier  and  Lauder 
and  Genee  have  danced  and  sung,  Mrs.  Campbell  has  acted, 
and  historians  like  to  call  to  mind  the  days  when  even 
Edwin  Booth  did  not  disdain  to  blacken  his  face,  or  Edwin 
Forrest  to  dance  a  jig. 

The  chief  characteristics  of  vaudeville  will  remain,  how 
ever  much  its  good  points  are  abused  by  the  variety  inheri 
tance.  It  is  a  form  dependent  on  one's  like  for  disassociation 
of  ideas;  it  is  amusement  cultivating  nervous  strain  rather 
than  resulting  in  permanent  effect. 

The  dramatization  of  novels  cannot  be  called  a  new  form, 
for  Shakespeare  looms  in  the  past,  an  inimitable  adapter 
of  the  conte.  Professor  Matthews,  in  his  "Pen  and  Ink," 
has  a  suggestive  chapter  on  this  process,  and  we  note  that 
it  has  become  a  custom  in  every  country  to  benefit  by  the 
inventive  faculty  of  the  novelist.  For,  while  I  cannot  agree 
with  Paul  M.  Potter,  adapter  of  "Trilby,"  that  the  pas 
sionate  story  is  all  an  audience  seeks,  I  do  believe  that  an 
interesting  story,  in  novel  form,  might  be  very  well  utilized 
by  the  dramatist,  but,  mind  you,  in  the  dramatist's  way. 
In  other  words,  the  latter  must  take  liberties  with  the  former, 
in  so  far  as  the  technique  of  the  latter  differs  from  that  of 
the  former. 

Mr.  Potter  is  rash  when  he  claims  that  the  drama  is  not 
dependent  upon  the  intellectual  element.  But  it  is  easy 
to  fall  into  platitudes,  and  Mr.  Potter's  belief  that  "if  the 
feelings  of  the  audience  are  rightly  moved,  the  play  suc 
ceeds,"  has  nothing  to  prove.  For  audiences  are  moved 
intellectually  as  well  as  passionately,  and,  what  is  more, 
they  have  a  common  spirit  which  passion  only  indirectly 
appeals  to.  When  one  looks  back  on  "The  Eternal  City," 
"The  Only  Way,"  "The  Prisoner  of  Zenda,"  "When  Knight- 


FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA         255 

hood  was  in  Flower,"  "Janice  Meredith,"  and  countless 
other  dramatizations,  when  one  regards  the  work  of  Potter, 
of  Rose,  of  Kester,  and  of  an  increasing  host,  one  is  tempted 
to  believe  that  dramatization  has  become  a  form  —  a  manu 
factured  form  —  readily  manipulated,  but  built  only  to  last 
a  season.  We  have  seen  how  often  the  American  dramatist 
has  either  dramatized  or  adapted.  Boucicault  lived  upon 
the  process;  it  even  dulled  his  originality,  though  it  did 
not  paralyze  his  resources  of  inventiveness. 

But  the  ease  with  which  novels  have  been  turned  into  plays 
has  presented  a  mistaken  idea  to  the  novelist  regarding  the 
stage.  The  process  has  been  detrimental  to  the  drama  as 
well  as  to  the  novel.  There  is  no  reason,  however,  why 
lasting  plays  should  not  be  taken  from  books,  save  that 
where  there  is  a  slavish  dependence  upon  the  story  as  told, 
there  is  a  consequent  lack  of  intensity  and  of  close  technique. 
The  reading  public  scares  the  dramatizer,  for  when  a  book 
is  popular,  and  only  popular  books  are  dramatized,  the 
dramatist  has  to  keep  faith  with  what  the  public  already 
knows. 

II 

I  do  not  think  that  it  is  so  necessary  for  the  student  of 
American  drama  to  trace  minutely  the  varying  forms  in 
which  drama  expresses  itself.  It  is  enough  that  we  are 
imitative  in  farce,  in  comedy,  in  social  drama,  in  the  problem 
play,  in  every  form  imported  from  abroad.  What  should 
concern  us,  however,  is  a  subject  that  narrows  itself  down 
to  two  points:  comedy  on  one  hand,  and  tragedy  on  the 
other.  How  fare  these  with  us,  not  as  form,  but  as  spirit; 
not  as  convention,  but  as  attitude,  as  national  outlook? 

If  our  American  humor  is  what  we  claim  it  to  be,  then 
our  comedy  should  be  rich.  And  no  one  may  complain  of 
this,  remembering  Mark  Twain,  George  Ade,  and  Peter  F. 


256  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Dunne  (Mr.  Dooley).  If  our  American  sanity  is  a  fact,  then 
our  recognition  of  the  Tragic  Spirit,  as  opposed  to  the  special 
form  of  tragedy,  must  be  pronounced.  Our  American  drama 
tists  of  the  closet  drama  employed  the  old  classic  form  of 
catastrophe,  but  that  has  passed  out  of  date  with  the  coming 
of  modern  technique.  Our  early  American  humorists  gave 
types  caricatured  as  we  have  seen  in  Sellers,  in  Solon  Shingle, 
and  in  others,  but  the  human  view,  which  lies  at  the  basis 
of  realism,  has  modified  every  form  of  comedy  and  tragedy, 
and  there  is  only  left  the  deep  and  abiding  spirit  of  each 
with  which  to  cope. 

Ill 

There  is  no  business  more  speculative  than  that  of  defi 
ning  things;  lexicographers  are  not  given  the  prophetic 
vision,  and  only  one,  so  far,  —  Dr.  Johnson  —  has  possessed 
the  literary  sense.  No  matter  what  limitation  we  place 
upon  the  meaning  of  a  word,  time  overrides  it  and  creates 
a  periodic  point  of  view. 

Since  Aristotle  framed  his  classic  definition  of  tragedy, we 
have  been  called  upon  to  reckon  with  drama  in  terms  of 
Shakespeare  on  one  hand,  and  in  terms  of  Ibsen  and  Maeter 
linck  on  the  other.  Literary  history  has  taught  us  to  be 
wary  of  declaring  old  formulae  useless.  Hence,  there  has 
become  evolved  a  type  of  criticism  which  is  more  interesting 
because  of  its  angle  of  vision  than  because  it  throws  any 
deep  and  abiding  light  upon  the  fundamental  starting-point. 

Professor  Ashley  Thorndike  wrote  a  volume  for  a  series 
called  "The  Types  of  English  Literature,"  and  he  gave  it 
the  inclusive  title  of  "Tragedy."  What  the  reader  finds  to 
be  the  case  is,  that  beginning  with  certain  general  premises, 
he  discusses  the  modifications  attendant  upon  all  practice, 
and  in  this  case  subject  to  national  characteristics.  And, 
after  reading  through  the  chapters,  a  truth  is  impressed 


FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA         257 

upon  us:  tragedy,  as  a  mere  form,  is  not  constant,  but  is 
a  convention  of  art,  subject  to  conventional  social  ideas 
and  ideals.  The  Tragic  Spirit  behind  the  sequence  of  things, 
or  rather  within  and  coincident  with  the  evolution  of  human 
ity,  is  more  eternal  and  more  universal. 

We  have  not  yet  had  a  treatise  on  the  Tragic  Spirit  that 
has  not  paid  greater  attention  to  the  comparative  estimate 
of  dramatists  in  the  university  or  academic  manner,  than 
to  the  psychological  reasons  for  the  existence  of  the  spirit 
itself.  Gummere  considers  the  vocero,  or  tribal  songs  of 
grief;  here  is  a  primitive  basis,  unhindered  by  any  cumber 
some  body  of  literature,  —  a  basis  upon  which  to  reach 
some  physical  recognition  of  tragedy.  Perhaps,  in  a  small 
and  not  wholly  satisfactory  manner,  W.  L.  Courtney  has 
suggested  quite  as  much  of  the  historical  perspective  in  a 
survey  of  "The  Idea  of  Tragedy"  as  one  would  need,  in 
order  to  arrive  at  some  conception  of  the  tragic,  not  as  a 
form  but  as  a  principle. 

Now,  what  has  happened  in  this  wild  and  seemingly  in 
effectual  groping  for  the  defining  marks  of  tragedy?  Aris 
totle,  in  true  greatness  of  the  Greek  spirit,  attempting  to 
reduce  the  problem  to  its  simplest  points,  yet  including  all 
its  essential  connections  with  life,  as  the  Greek  philosophers 
saw  life,  used  general  rather  than  specific  terms :  "  Tragedy 
is  an  imitation  of  an  action  that  is  serious,  complete,  and  of 
a  certain  magnitude;  in  language  embellished  with  each 
kind  of  artistic  ornament,  the  several  kinds  being  found  in 
separate  parts  of  the  play;  in  the  form  of  action,  not  of 
narrative;  through  pity  and  fear  effecting  the  proper  kathar- 
sis,  or  purgation,  of  these  emotions." 

The  danger  of  literary  study  is  that,  too  often,  we  are 
side-tracked  by  minor  interesting  problems.  Not  only  are 
there  students  working  in  the  oppressive  style  so  well  ex 
emplified  in  Dr.  Schelling's  "Elizabethan  Drama,"  where 


258  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

streams  of  fact  measure  a  certain  orderliness  of  mind,  with 
out  expressing  the  breadth  of  spiritual  view  —  forgetful  of 
the  life  and  of  the  personality  in  the  fractional  difference 
of  the  fact  —  but  a  literature  has  grown  up  around  the 
interpretation  of  a  word.  In  Butcher's  translation  of  Aris 
totle,  he  analyzes  the  Greek  conception  of  "the  function 
of  tragedy,"  and  deals  with  those  critics,  including  Lessing 
and  Goethe,  who  have  debated  and  challenged  the  transla 
tion  of  the  word  katharsis,  or  purgation.  You  see  how  subtly 
one  may  be  drawn  into  a  profound  discussion  of  the  ethics 
of  an  art,  losing  sight  of  the  essentials  under  consideration. 

The  subject  is  a  big  one  and  a  human  one;  on  one  hand, 
you  have  the  conventions  of  the  stage  in  different  ages, 
affecting  the  form  of  tragedy;  on  the  other,  there  are  the 
moral  and  social  standards  which  have  moved  the  individual 
along  the  scale  of  increasing  importance.  We  have  had 
considered  for  us  Greek  tragedy,  Roman  tragedy,  and,  in 
modern  times,  tragedy  reacted  upon  by  English,  French, 
German,  Spanish,  and  Italian  temperament.  But  the  basic 
reasons  for  the  support  and  development  of  the  Tragic 
Spirit,  whatever  the  environment,  have  not  had  a  popular, 
a  readable  exposition.  That  Americans,  for  example,  do 
not  care  for  tragedy  as  a  form  of  drama,  and  blind  them 
selves  to  the  Tragic  Spirit,  is  not  due  to  a  predominating 
cry  in  the  illogical  vein  of  the  Dr.  Fell  couplet.  Nor  may 
we  go  so  deep  as  ethnology  for  an  explanation.  But  a 
perspective  view  of  our  human  response  to  social  and 
economic  fact  will  give  us  cause  to  believe  that  comedy,  in 
its  richest  sense,  measures  our  dramatic  taste. 

In  Greek  tragedy,  we  consider  the  abstract  will  struggling 
against  a  religious  attitude  toward  Fate.  In  Shakespeare, 
there  is  the  human  will  centered  upon  personality,  struggling, 
not  against  Fate,  but  against  time  and  circumstance.  In 
Ibsen  and  Maeterlinck,  the  stage  contracts,  becomes  cen- 


FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA         259 

tred  in  personality  effected  by  all  the  currents  of  time. 
I  have  elsewhere  said  that  Ibsen  unfailingly  approached 
optimism,  save  in  the  case  of  "Hedda  Gabler"  and  "The 
Wild  Duck,"  through  pessimistic  channels;  that  his  in 
dignation  was  health-giving,  and  counteracted  the  bitter 
realism  of  his  temporal  contemplation.  Maeterlinck,  in 
the  tracks  of  Emerson,  has  taken  all  the  abstract  ideas  of 
the  Greeks  —  the  concepts  of  destiny,  righteousness,  truth  — 
moving  in  an  outside  sphere,  and  has  compressed  them  within 
and  around  the  individual. 

Tragedy  of  old  had  a  conventional  idea  that  only  the 
highly  bred,  the  kings,  the  princes  of  the  universe,  were 
subject  to  the  cataclysmic  reversals  of  Nature.  But  the 
modern  note  accentuates  a  democratic  level,  and,  as  we  have 
"The  Treasure  of  the  Humble,"  so  we,  perforce,  come  to 
consider  "  the  tragical  in  daily  life." 

"  I  have  grown  to  believe,"  writes  Maeterlinck,  "  that  an 
old  man,  seated  in  his  arm-chair,  waiting  patiently,  with 
his  lamp  beside  him ;  giving  unconscious  ear  to  all  the  eternal 
laws  that  reign  about  his  house;  interpreting,  without  com 
prehending,  the  silence  of  doors  and  windows,  and  the  quiver 
ing  voice  of  the  light;  submitting  with  bent  head  to  the 
presence  of  his  soul  and  his  destiny,  .  .  .  motionless  as 
he  is,  does  yet  live  in  reality  a  deeper,  more  human,  and  more 
universal  life  than  the  lover  who  strangles  his  mistress,  the 
captain  who  conquers  in  battle,  or  '  the  husband  who  avenges 
his  honor/  " 

Here,  then,  the  modern  concept  of  tragedy,  even  in  its 
formal  state,  takes  on  a  new  aspect;  the  heightened  swing 
of  blank  verse  has  had  to  contend  with  the  commonplace 
vitality  of  Ibsen  prose.  But  the  essence  of  the  form,  which 
is  the  Tragic  Spirit,  has  become  almost  personal  in  its 
source. 

In  most  cases,  literary  history  has  shown  that  dramaturgic 


260          THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

conventions  may  generally  be  defied.  The  comic  idea  has 
spread  in  such  directions  as  to  approach  the  tragic.  Someone 
refused  lately  to  write  a  book  on  comedy  because  the  subject 
was  so  inclusive  in  its  reach,  under  modern  theatrical  nomen 
clature.  No  longer  does  a  tragedy  necessarily  imply  death; 
no  longer  does  death  have  to  occur  off  the  stage.  Technique 
and  philosophy  have  thrown  into  temporary  disuse  the  solilo 
quy,  which  largely  expressed  narratively  what  Ibsen  could 
place  into  seemingly  trite  dialogue,  what  Maeterlinck,  in 
such  a  perfect  piece  of  psychology  and  clinical  observation 
as  "  The  Blind, "  treats  through  the  atmospheric  quality  of 
his  Ollendorfian  talk  —  which  is  only  Ollendorfian,  by 
the  way,  when  it  is  badly  read. 

Maeterlinck  has  given  us  "  The  Life  of  the  Bee " ;  neither 
has  science  refuted  his  observation  nor  economics  his  social 
statement;  yet  primarily  his  essay  is  no  text-book  on  api 
culture,  no  discussion  of  the  social  unit.  My  contention 
is  that  scholarship  only  half  sees,  or,  more  aptly,  sees  only 
half  of  the  subject  it  considers.  Tragedy  needs  yet  to  be 
viewed  in  the  Maeterlinckian  fulness. 

This  does  not  mean  that  one  should  try  to  sense  instinc 
tively  the  Tragic  Spirit,  though  the  true  artist  assuredly  be 
comes  freer  as  he  divines  his  substance  and  its  essential 
form,  rather  than  bases  it  upon  studied  or  remembered 
models.  One  writes  tragedy  only  when  the  Tragic  Spirit 
moves  him  forcefully,  only  when  it  emanates  from  the 
material  which  is  his  choice.  I  quote  Maeterlinck:  "None 
but  yourself  shall  you  meet  on  the  highway  of  Fate.  If 
Judas  go  forth  to-night,  it  is  toward  Judas  his  steps  will 
tend." 

Life  is  so  closely  knit  with  the  tragic  and  the  comic,  that 
defining  will  not  account  for  all  the  forms  that  arise  there 
from.  Abstractly  stated,  we  see  the  Tragic  Spirit  as  one 
unchangeable  principle  —  wherein  agony,  despair,  grief, 


FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA         261 

pain,  tend  toward  the  dissolution  of  the  human  will.  Comedy 
may  yield  to  the  darker  balance  of  life,  becoming  serious, 
grave,  even  destructive,  yet  still  we  would  keep  from  desig 
nating  it  as  tragedy. 

Therefore,  even  though  "A  Doll's  House"  and  "Ghosts" 
be  painful  in  their  outcome,  though  "Hannele"  wrench 
the  heart  with  its  pathetic  child  symbol,  though  Pinero's 
"Iris"  be  the  tragic  dragging  of  a  woman  into  the  gutter, 
we  theatre-goers  are  at  a  want  for  the  phrase  by  which  to 
call  them.  Ibsen  wrote  no  tragedies  during  his  later  life, 
in  the  accepted  sense  of  the  word;  yet  in  no  modern  play 
wright  is  the  Tragic  Spirit  so  clearly  realizable  —  which  in 
no  way  detracts  from  his  positive  influence. 

Somehow,  form  has  crept  into  the  popular  conception  of 
the  outward  expression  by  which  the  Tragfc  Spirit  is  recog 
nized.  Is  it  necessary  to  have  the  lofty  style,  the  exaggerated 
speech,  the  melancholy  event,  the  florid  diction,  the  stately 
action?  Then  truly  the  cottage  and  cabin  are  no  scenes 
for  tragedy,  and  the  commonplace  contains  no  essence  of 
the  same.  It  is  the  great  flow  of  circumstance,  of  time,  of 
infinitude  around  the  lowly,  that  must  be  reconciled  with 
the  accustomed  height  and  swing  of  the  art  form. 

Verily,  the  student's  perspective  is  needed  by  the  writer 
on  tragedy,  but  it  is  his  imagination  and  his  constructive 
ability  that  will  aid  him  most.  For  the  Tragic  Spirit  in  man 
is  that  which  gives  life  to  tragedy,  and  the  product  may 
only  be  a  faint  reflex  of  the  principle.  That  is  where  Greek 
art  overreached  the  limits  of  its  time;  it  was  conceived 
clearly  in  the  spirit  of  highest  Greek  endeavor;  it  was  based 
upon  the  concepts  of  eternal  principles.  Thinking  was  not 
imitative;  it  was  pristine.  Men  spoke  like  oracles,  stating 
law  as  above  fact. 

Tragedy,  as  a  form  of  art,  is  at  the  present,  furthest 
removed  from  the  American  spirit  —  from  the  democratic 


262  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

spirit.  I,  nevertheless,  take  the  attitude  that  we  must 
not  blind  ourselves  to  the  existence  of  the  Tragic  Spirit,  even 
though  we  do  not  accept  tragedy,  per  se,  on  our  boards. 
Ibsen's  voice  proclaims  its  presence  underlying  the  ills  of 
our  social  organism;  Maeterlinck's  philosophy  shows  the 
lowliest  soul  confronted  by  the  problems  of  eternity.  We 
respond  in  terms  of  the  comic,  but  the  American  people 
cannot  be  blind  to  the  tragic  in  their  lives. 

We  meet  misfortune  in  the  comedy  spirit  of  youth. 
Take  the  ravages  of  the  Civil  War  and  the  epic  response 
afterward  among  Southerners,  who  faced  the  future  with 
supernal  faith.  Take  the  San  Francisco  earthquake  and 
the  reaction  that  resulted  in  the  rebuilding  of  a  city.  No 
one  will  deny  the  presence  there  of  the  tragic  element. 
Perhaps  we  are  prone  to  lose  sight  of  it  in  the  reaction  of 
the  American  spirit  itself,  after  the  tragic  event. 

Undoubtedly,  the  old  dramatic  terms,  though  rigidly 
defined  by  lexicographers,  are  becoming  too  narrow  to  hold 
the  varying  forms.  And  no  doubt,  with  the  principle  of 
Ibsen  on  one  hand,  and  with  that  of  Maeterlinck  on  the 
other,  we  are  tending  toward  a  new  form.  This  will  be  con 
sidered  later.  But,  at  present,  we  need  some  treatise  on 
tragedy  which  will  estimate  its  essential  spirit  as  well  as 
its  varying  expression.  We  speak  frankly  in  our  magazines 
and  on  our  stage,  of  conditions  involving  sexual  relations  and 
struggles  in  environment.  Yet,  though  we  see  souls  dragged 
to  the  depths  of  despair  in  Walter's  "The  Easiest  Way," 
though  Jones's  "Mrs.  Dane's  Defense"  gives  us  another 
form  of  social  evil,  and  Nirdlinger,  in  "  The  World  and  His 
Wife,"  represents  the  grave  consequences  of  social  gossip, 
still  we  find  staring  us  in  the  face  on  our  program  the  word 
"comedy."  And  our  attitude  becomes  that  of  comedy 
toward  the  vital  problems  of  life,  simply  because  we  will  not 
countenance  on  our  stage,  or  in  our  ordinary  pursuits,  the 


FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA          203 

form   of   tragedy,  and   we   have  failed  to  identify  in  our 
national  life  the  presence  of  a  Tragic  Spirit. 


IV 

The  Comic  Spirit  is  an  illusive  factor  in  literary  history; 
it  is  a  deep  and  subtle  principle  in  life.  Raised  from  its 
Bacchic  origin,  it  has  become  the  very  core  of  sanity,  it  has 
become  the  true  moral  corrective  of  tragedy.  Perhaps 
we  are  losing  sight  of  this  in  our  demand  that  a  name  cover 
many  species,  until  at  last  the  pure  type  is  confounded 
with  the  hybrid.  But,  nevertheless,  for  richness  of  humanity, 
for  breadth  of  view,  for  deep  understanding,  the  Comic 
Spirit  has  a  range  that  embraces  a  large  sweep  of  life. 

To  him  who  views  the  world  aright,  there  are  always  the 
action  and  reaction,  the  tension  and  relief.  In  tragedy,  the 
emotions  are  so  powerfully  involved  that  one  is  no  longer 
able  to  measure  the  deviation  from  the  normal  view;  but 
a  real  value  of  the  Comic  Spirit  depends  almost  wholly  upon 
our  realization  of  how  far  we  have  deflected  from  the  truth. 
We  can  only  reach  the  latter  state  when  we  have  adequately 
become  informed  of  the  former.  We  arrive  at  the  pure 
comic  when  we  have  sounded  the  depths  of  full  existence. 

Now,  this  view  of  comedy  has  been  lost  to  the  present- 
day  playgoer;  most  of  our  writers  either  avoid  the  subject 
as  being  too  abstract  for  journalistic  purposes,  or  else  dis 
cuss  new  forms  herded  together  under  an  old  name.  If 
we  look  into  the  philosophy  of  the  matter,  we  find  the  psy 
chologist  too  intent  upon  the  physiological  reasons  as  to 
why  we  laugh,  and  the  metaphysician  too  loath  to  handle 
the  subject  in  the  concrete.  Yet,  in  the  scattered  cases 
where  writing  has  been  done  on  the  Comic  Spirit,  the  human 
istic  aspect  has  been  surely  persisting,  and  its  right  to  be 


264  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

regarded  as  the  sane  view  seems  justified  in  the  light  of 
accomplishment. 

Within  past  years,  we  have  had  evidences  of  an  existing 
sense  of  the  Comic  Spirit  among  our  dramatists  and  players. 
Mr.  Barrie  would  approach  very  near  to  it,  if  his  piquancy 
of  outlook  was  not  limited  by  an  agreeable  mannerism  of 
narrative  style.  After  a  fashion,  he  defined  the  true  comedy 
position  when,  in  "What  Every  Woman  Knows,"  Maggie 
Wylie  declared  that  no  one  could  love  her  who  could  n't 
laugh  at  her  a  little. 

When  Percy  Mackaye  wrote  "Mater,"  his  intention  was 
to  imbue  American  conditions  with  the  essence  of  comedy, 
illustrating  by  way  of  political  satire  the  fundamental  note 
in  life,  that  "  the  test  of  love  —  and  the  best  of  love  —  is 
laughter."  But  at  present  his  spiritual  desire  is  more  defined 
than  his  understanding  of  the  body  politic,  and  Mr.  Mac- 
kaye's  Comic  Spirit,  as  expressed,  comes  in  flashes  rather 
than  in  even  flow. 

Paul  Kester,  essaying  to  make  a  drama  from  "  Don  Quix 
ote,"  conceived  his  knight-errant  in  terms  of  situation, 
rather  than  in  terms  of  the  rich  defects  of  the  character. 
In  this  latter  respect,  Mr.  Sothern  was  the  only  one  who 
approached  Cervantes'  original  conception  —  to  picture 
the  weakness  of  over-romantic  chivalry,  at  the  same  time 
fully  realizing  perfectly  the  innate  perfectness  of  the  true 
gentleman.  His  acting  raised  Mr.  Kester's  play,  by  enforc 
ing  the  personal  dignity  of  the  character. 

Take  what  comedy  you  will,  in  which  there  flows  any  of 
the  red  blood  of  life,  and,  after  analysis,  you  will  find  that 
the  Comic  Spirit  is  not  haphazard,  is  not  shallow,  is  not  easy 
to  grasp.  One  must  be  very  near  to  life  in  order  to  feel  it, 
and  must  have  asked  one's  self  questions  regarding  the 
eternal  verities,  as  well  as  have  answered  them. 

I  have  chosen  to  confine  myself  entirely  to  the  Comic 


FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA         265 

Spirit  as  affecting  drama,  realizing  at  the  outset  that  we 
must  not  identify  it  exclusively  with  the  stage,  inasmuch 
as  we  have  Thackeray,  Balzac,  La  Fontaine,  Cervantes, 
Rabelais,  and  Chaucer  richly  entitled  to  consideration  in 
the  larger  field.  But  I  am  taking  the  stage,  for  I  am  aware 
that,  curiously,  it  is  there  that  the  fullest  meaning  of  the 
Comic  Spirit  is  in  greatest  danger  of  being  submerged. 
There  are  some  audiences  so  regaled  by  the  fun-making  of 
Eddie  Foy  and  James  T.  Powers  —  thoroughly  clever  as  far 
as  they  go  —  that  these  same  audiences  do  not  see  the  sweet 
human  defects  that  bring  one  to  the  verge  of  tears.  Why 
not,  they  argue,  call  "  'Op  o'  My  Thumb"  a  tragedy  and 
be  done  with  it? 

All  is  not  gold  that  glitters,  saith  the  proverb;  which 
means,  theatrically,  that  our  stage  is  too  filled  with  song 
and  dance  to  comprehend  the  Comic  Spirit.  Mr.  Mansfield 
never  once  builded  upon  our  reaching  the  human  and  in 
terpretative  importance  of  Moliere's  "  Misanthrope."  He 
planned  simply  to  satisfy  his  own  desire  to  add  to  the  honor 
of  the  stage;  he  was  not  disappointed,  for  Moliere  was  not 
a  popular  success.  Yet  it  is  the  duty  of  our  critics  to  point 
the  way  to  what  the  Comic  Spirit  means  in  the  affairs  of 
life.  Our  stage  revivals  are  received  with  too  much  willing 
ness  to  understand  the  archaeological  shroud,  and  with  no 
cultural  perspective  to  note  wherein  the  unctuousness  and 
live  quality  lay.  It  is  part  of  the  university's  province  to 
quicken  the  past.  And  so,  I  welcome  Dr.  Curtis  Hidden 
Page's  translations  of  Moliere,  not  only  because  they  are 
an  aid  to  the  English  reader,  but  because  in  the  lucidity 
of  their  style  they  are  adequate  for  stage  presentation, 
with  practical  and  judicious  excisions.  I  believe  it  is  given 
the  audience  to  sense  the  essence  of  the  comic  without 
knowing  why  or  how.  This  is  seen  in  that  instantaneous 
response  of  the  reading  public,  for  example,  to  Aldrich,  to 


260  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Mark  Twain,  to  Holmes;  and  in  the  merry  laugh  over 
"Uncle  Remus."  I  see  the  Comic  Spirit  swell  the  meaty 
substance  of  Henry  James'  sentences.  It  is  not  that  the 
Comic  Spirit  is  wanting,  but  that  our  vision  of  it  has  been 
warped  by  other  forms  which  are,  in  comparison,  even  as 
paste  jewels.  It  is  surprising  that  we  have  so  much  of  the 
richness  of  the  comic  in  the  face  of  newspaper  supplements 
and  musical  comedies.  We  will  have  greater  plays  of  the 
Comic  Spirit  just  so  soon  as  we  are  everywhere  alive  to  its 
whole  value.  It  were  well  for  us,  indeed,  when  we  reach 
that  stage  of  culture  where  we  can  grasp  the  humor  of  our 
faith  without  in  the  least  relinquishing  its  sanctity.  In 
deep  reverence,  I  have  heard  portions  of  the  Book  of  Mark 
read  for  the  purpose  of  illustrating  the  rich  essence  of  Christ's 
humor.  Comedy  and  right  living  are  closely  related 
ideas. 

At  the  beginning  of  a  chapter  on  "Greek  and  Roman 
Comedy,"  in  Professor  Matthews'  "The  Development  of 
the  Drama,"  the  author  attempts  to  indicate  a  terse  dis 
tinction  between  tragedy,  serious  drama,  and  comedy, 
basing  the  whole  upon  Brunetiere's  law  —  which  after  all 
is  only  Brunetiere's  restatement  of  the  law  of  drama  from 
time  immemorial,  —  that  all  drama  deals  with  the  exercise 
of  the  human  will.  "If,"  so  writes  Professor  Matthews, 
"the  obstacle  against  which  the  will  of  the  hero  finally 
breaks  itself  is  absolutely  insurmountable,  the  Greek  idea 
of  Fate,  for  example,  the  Christian  decree  of  Providence, 
or  the  modern  scientific  doctrine  of  heredity,  then  we  have 
tragedy,  pure  and  simple.  If  the  obstacle  is  not  absolutely 
insurmountable,  being  no  more  than  the  social  law,  some 
thing  of  man's  own  making,  and  therefore  not  finally  inex 
orable,  then  we  have  the  serious  drama.  If  the  obstacle 
is  only  the  desire  of  another  human  being,  then  the  result 
of  the  contention  of  these  two  characters  is  likely  to  give 


FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA         267 

us  a  comedy.  And  if  the  obstacle  is  merely  one  of  the  minor 
conventions  of  society,  then  we  may  have  farce." 

These  are  merely  perfunctory  demarcations,  with  only 
one  phase  of  the  matter  indicated;  for  in  no  way  do  the 
several  definitions  clearly  denote  the  measurement  of  the 
comic  or  tragic  clash  with  the  norm.  The  ethical,  moral 
value  of  laughter  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  makes  us  more  sane, 
by  bringing  more  truly  into  relief,  through  some  slight  in 
congruity  of  motive  or  situation,  the  benefits  of  the  normal 
life.  Throughout  his  discussion  of  Aristotle,  Butcher  is 
continually  emphasizing  the  humanistic,  philosophical  view 
of  comedy,  which  distinguishes  the  modern  from  the  ancient. 
He  lays  stress  upon  Hobbes'  claim  that  "the  passion  of 
laughter  is  nothing  else  but  a  sudden  glory,  arising  from  a 
sudden  conception  of  some  eminency  in  ourselves,  by  com 
parison  of  the  infirmity  of  others,  or  with  our  own  formerly." 
The  high  comic  poet  must  taste  of  life  healthily,  and  see 
that  it  is  good,  before  he  formulates  a  table  of  contrasts. 
Knowing  life,  as  it  is  given  the  big  man  to  know  it,  he  allows 
himself  to  throw  relations  out  of  harmony  to  the  point 
where  he  is  in  danger  of  losing  all  hold  upon  the  sane  view. 

The  Comic  Spirit,  therefore,  represents  one  of  the  highest 
factors,  if  not  the  highest,  in  life.  From  the  modern  stand 
point,  it  approaches  closer  to  the  ethical  demand,  since  it 
represents  optimism  rather  than  pessimism.  "Comic 
emotion,"  Dr.  Guthrie  claims,  "originates  from  the  co 
existence  of  a  perception  of  incongruity  and  a  persistent 
conviction,  not  probably  more  than  half  conscious  and  in 
all  likelihood  quite  inexplicit,  that  in  despite  of  such  incon 
gruity  things  are  right." 

The  Greeks  did  not  conceive  the  Comic  Spirit  in  as  pure 
a  state  as  they  did  the  Tragic  Spirit;  they  could  not  wholly 
separate  it  from  the  Bacchic  on  one  hand,  or  from  the  satiric 
on  the  other.  "The  ludicrous,"  as  defined  by  Aristotle, 


268  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

"consists  in  some  defect  or  ugliness  which  is  not  painful  or 
destructive."  The  Greeks  denied  tears  to  laughter:  they 
well-nigh  sacrificed  sympathy.  There  was  some  malice  in 
their  enjoyment  of  "discomfiture,"  as  Butcher  so  well  ana 
lyzes.  They  did  not  look  to  the  comic  for  a  criticism  of 
life  in  general;  they  narrowed  to  the  individual,  sacrificing 
the  type;  they  satirized  with  no  regard  for  sane  restraint. 
To  them  the  Comic  Spirit  dwelt  within  the  lower 
types. 

As  usual,  we  next  turn  attention  to  comedy  in  Shake 
speare,  as  illustrating  the  rich  humanistic  view  of  character, 
devoid  of  buffoonery;  one  finds  the  full  value  in  the  char 
acter  of  Viola  and  in  that  of  Malvolio.  Life  is  warm,  replete 
in  sunshine  here,  with  no  poisoned  shafts,  but  ripe  in  sym 
pathy  with  human  foibles,  in  kindliness.  "Twelfth  Night" 
is  Shakespeare's  midsummer  in  comedy,  declares  Professor 
Dowden. 

In  a  broad  sense,  Moliere  is  more  nearly  representative 
of  the  Comic  Spirit  than  Shakespeare,  although  in  a  few 
instances  the  latter  attained  the  pinnacle  of  preeminence. 
The  former,  however,  clearly  illustrates  that  perfection  with 
which  the  comedy  of  manners,  exquisitely  representing  its 
age  on  one  hand,  may  likewise  embrace  a  universal  con 
sideration.  Scribe  is  Moliere  perverted. 

"I  can  never  care  for  seeing  Things  that  force  me  to 
entertain  low  Thoughts  of  my  Nature,"  wrote  Congreve, 
in  a  letter  concerning  "Humor  in  Comedy."  Take  this 
statement  in  consideration  with  the  moral  status  of  his 
theatre,  and  we  begin  to  realize  that  it  was  only  through 
his  grasp  of  the  Comic  Spirit  that  Congreve  was  preserved 
out  of  the  general  licentiousness  of  the  time.  He  had  the 
faults  of  his  social  environment;  his  genius  rose  above  them, 
however  identified  with  them,  however  shaped  by  them. 
Congreve  means  brilliancy  of  dialogue,  and  a  sense  of  comic 


FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA         269 

values,  as  soon  as  you  are  able  to  realize  that  he  represents 
also  a  certain  phase  of  English  dramatic  evolution.  Do 
you  remember  Lamb's  essay  "On  the  Artificial  Comedy  of 
the  Last  Century"? 

This  is  no  simple  subject  that  we  are  looking  at  so  cursorily. 
Its  proper  consideration  involves  racial  and  national  limita 
tions  and  differences.  What  you  smile  over,  I  may  not. 
What  the  English  critic  defines  as  Comedy,  the  German 
critic  may  deny;  the  one  believes  in  a  permanent  effect  of 
comedy,  the  other  in  simply  a  transitory  effect.  To  enforce 
this,  Dr.  Paul  Hamelius  quotes  Kant's  "Kritik  of  Judgment," 
which  defines  "laughter  as  an  emotion  occasioned  by  the 
sudden  resolution  of  a  roused  expectation  into  nothing." 

Therefore,  generally  speaking,  the  German  conception  of 
comedy,  as  represented  in  Schlegel,  is  wild  and  lawless;  and 
in  true  German  manner,  the  philosophers,  in  especial  Hegel, 
interpret  the  effect  this  "ignorance  of  self-restraint "  has 
upon  individuality  and  its  vital  relations  to  life,  to  cause 
and  effect. 

The  book  has  yet  to  be  written  which  will  define  the 
Comic  Spirit  in  terms  here  suggested;  the  subject  is  so 
broad  as  to  make  the  university  worker  hesitate.  We  want 
a  vital  discussion,  in  which  tendencies,  racial  and  social,  are 
indicated;  it  is  not  enough  that  individual  plays  be  defined 
in  the  scholar's  manner.  For  the  average  reader  is  not 
familiar  with  plays  of  much  wide  diversity  of  range.  That 
is  why  George  Meredith  is  perhaps  so  little  known  to  the 
general  public  as  an  analyzer  of  "comedy"  in  a  special 
essay;  it  is  full  of  learning,  of  great  familiarity  with  stage 
history  from  the  closet  standpoint.  He  views  his  subject 
with  the  eye  of  the  novelist.  Yet  his  humanistic  approach 
toward  his  discursive  point  of  view  is  replete  with  unerring 
appreciation  of  the  true  value.  "To  be  an  exalted  variety," 
he  writes,  "is  to  come  under  the  calm,  curious  eye  of  tlm 


270  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Comic  Spirit,  and  be  probed  for  what  you  are."  Again  he 
proclaims  that  "Comedy  is  the  fountain  of  sound  sense," 
all  expressions  of  which  are  deeply  conceived,  and  which, 
in  themselves,  refine  even  to  pain. 


In  analyzing  the  essence  of  American  humor,  Charles 
Johnston 1  makes  an  excellent  distinction  between  humor 
and  wit,  in  both  of  which  there  must  be  the  element  of 
laughter.  He  writes: 

"  If  there  is  a  play  of  mind  about  difference  of  race,  using 
this  as  the  laughter-rousing  contrast  which  is  common  to 
both  wit  and  humor,  and  if  this  play  of  thought  and  feeling 
accentuates  and  heightens  the  race  difference,  and  tries  to 
show,  or  assume,  as  is  often  the  case,  that  the  race  of  the 
joker  is  endlessly  superior  to  the  other,  then  we  are  dealing 
with  wit,  an  amusing  thing  enough  in  its  way,  but  a  false 
thing,  one  which  leads  us  away  from  the  true  end  of  man. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  have  an  accentuation  of  the  common 
life,  bridging  the  chasm  of  race,  and  the  overplus  of  power 
is  felt  to  be  shared  in  by  the  two  races,  and  to  unite  them, 
then  we  have  genuine  humor,  something  as  vital  to  our  true 
humanity  as  is  the  Tragedy  of  Greece,  as  is  the  Evangel  of 
Galilee,  yet  something  more  joyful  and  buoyant  than  either; 
uniting  us,  not  through  comparison  or  the  sense  of  common 
danger,  but  through  the  sense  of  common  power,  a  prophecy 
of  the  golden  age,  of  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the  soul." 

Consider  these  differences  carefully,  and  it  will  be  seen 
how  reversed  are  the  essential  spirits  of  comedy  and  farce. 
These  are  not  alone  two  forms  of  drama;  they  are  also  two 
outlooks  upon  life.  The  great  fault  with  the  American 
dramatist  is  that  often  he  hides  the  richness  of  his  humor 
1  Atlantic,  87: 195-202,  1901. 


EDWARD  II  A  R  RIG  AN 


FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA  271 

beneath  the  incongruity  of  witty  situation  ;  he  spoils  the 
good-natured  satire  of  his  intention  beneath  cartoon  motives 
and  actions.  This  was  the  weakness  of  Charles  Hoyt  (1860- 
1900),1  author  of  "  A  Parlor  Match,"  "A  Rag  Baby,"  "Old 
Sport,"  "A  Trip  to  Chinatown,"  "A  Texas  Steer,"  "A 
Temperance  Town,"  "A  Contented  Woman"  (1895),  and 
"A  Milk  White  Flag."  His  satire  was  spontaneous,  but 
be  became  self-conscious  whenever  he  attempted  to  cross 
the  border  into  farce.  His  political  pictures,  his  characteri 
zations  of  conscientious  churchmen,  his  thrusts  against  the 
sporting  craze,  the  temperance  movement,  the  militia,  and 
the  woman's  rights  movement  would  undoubtedly  have 
placed  him  among  the  foremost  American  dramatists  had 
he  not  persisted  in  upsetting  his  good  work,  which  lay  so 
largely  in  his  ability  to  contrast,  and  in  his  resorting  to 
the  ridiculous  and  the  incongruous.  Hence,  in  Hoyt's  plays 
there  was  an  admixture  of  insight  and  shallowness. 

I  should  say,  therefore,  that  his  farce-comedies  were 
marked  by  humor,  but  were  spoiled  by  the  form  of  farce. 
As  for  Edward  Harrigan  (1845-1911),  he  must  be  character 
ized  as  a  delineator  of  a  special  type,  and  with  his  partner, 
Tony  Hart,  he  built  up  the  reputation  which  won  him 
support.  For  the  two  were  funmakers,  as  Weber  and  Fields 
and  the  Rogers  Brothers  were  funmakers.  In  1871,  Harrigan 
and  Hart  began  their  careers  in  "The  Mulcaney  Twins"; 
then  there  followed  in  quick  succession  "  The  Day  We  Went 
West,"  "The  Doyle  Brothers,"  "The  Major"  (1877),  "Old 
Lavender"  (1877),  "The  Mulligan  Guards' Ball"  (1879), 
"The  Mulligan  Guards'  Chowder"  (1879),  "The  Mulligan 
Guards'  Christmas,"  "The  Mulligan  Guards'  Surprise," 
and  others. 

Like  the  elder  Tyrone  Power's,  Harrigan's  pieces  depended 

1  See  the  excellent  article  by  Atherton  Brownell  in  Bostonian, 
3:386,  Jan.,  1896. 


272          THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

upon  his  acting.1  There  was  no  art  in  the  writing  of  them, 
and  they  would  not  read  well  were  they  put  into  print. 
Nor  can  we  say  that  they  were  typical  of  American  humor. 
In  the  street  sense,  George  M.  Cohan  represents  the  popular 
conception  of  American  wit,  and  his  ability  should  not  be 
overlooked.  But  he  does  not  in  any  way  approach  the  true 
humor  of  George  Ade,  whose  style,  even  before  he  became 
a  playwright,  was  sufficiently  conversational  in  his  books 
to  point  the  way  to  the  stage.  That  road,  however,  came 
into  being  by  the  merest  chance  in  1902. 

Ade  was  born  in  Kentland,  Indiana,  on  February  9,  1866, 
his  father  being  a  prominent  banker  of  the  town.  In  his 
youth,  the  boy  tasted  of  all  that  country  life  upon  which 
he  was  to  look  back  with  gentle  banter  and  kindly  laughter. 
In  1887,  he  graduated  from  Purdue  University,  and  there 
upon  began  his  profession  of  journalism,  which  was  to  lead 
him  to  authorship. 

By  1890,  he  was  on  the  Chicago  Daily  News,  associating 
with  Harry  B.  Smith,  the  librettist  of  "Robin  Hood"  and 
"Rob  Roy";  Peter  F.  Dunne,  alias  "Mr.  Dooley";  and 
Charles  B.  Dillingham,  who,  once  the  personal  represen 
tative  of  Miss  Julia  Marlowe,  is  now  one  of  the  prominent 
managers  of  the  time.  Ade's  strides  were  determined  and 
rapid.  In  1894,  he  became  a  member  of  the  staff  of  the 

1  He  was  also  the  author  of  "Darby  and  Lanty"  (1876)  ;  "  Is- 
caine"  (1876);  "St.  Patrick's  Day  Parade"  (1876);  "Ireland 
versus  Italy"  (1876);  "Lorgaire"  (1878);  "The  Major"  (1881); 
"Squatter  Sovereignty"  (1882);  "  The  Blackbird "  (1882);  "Mor- 
decai  Lyons"  (1882);  "McSorley's  Inflation"  (1882);  "The 
Muddy'sDay"  (1883);  "Cordelia's  Aspirations"  (1883);  "Dan's 
Tribulations "(1884);  "Investigation"  (1884);  "The  Grip "(1885); 
"The  Leather  Patch"  (1886);  "The  O'Reagans"  (1886);  "Mc- 
Nooney's  Visit"  (1887);  "Pete"  (1887);  "Waddy  Googan"  (1888); 
"Reilly  and  the  Four  Hundred  "  (1890);  "The  Last  of  the  Hogans  " 
(1891);  "The  Woollen  Stocking"  (1893);  "Notoriety"  (1894). 
See  Mackaye  and  Wingate's  "Actors  of  To-day  in  America." 


FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA          273 

Chicago  Record,  remaining  there  seven  years,  and  occupying 
the  desk  made  vacant  through  the  death  of  Eugene  Field. 
His  "Artie"  book  and  his  "Fables  in  Slang"  were  written 
during  these  years.  In  1900,  he  sailed  for  China,  Japan,  and 
the  Philippines.  Thus  far  the  reporter  was  seeing  life  in 
various  hues. 

Then,  on  his  return,  a  young  Chicago  composer,  Mr. 
Wathall,  asked  Ade  to  write  the  "book"  for  a  musical  score 
he  was  preparing  for  an  amateur  club.  But  the  actual  work 
had  not  progressed  far  when  Henry  W.  Savage  appeared 
upon  the  scene,  and  Ade  entered  as  a  factor  in  the  American 
drama,  with  "The  Sultan  of  Sulu."  Then  followed  in  quick 
succession,  "Peggy  from  Paris,"  "The  County  Chairman," 
"The  Sho-Gun,"  "The  College  Widow,"  "  The  Bad  Samari 
tan,"  and  "Just  Out  of  College."  "Father  and  the  Boys" 
is  his  most  recent  successful  piece. 

All  of  these  plays  apply  poignantly  to  American  con 
ditions;  they  make  use  of  a  fresh  way  of  forcing  the  in 
congruous  elements  of  "news"  to  act  themselves  visibly 
before  an  audience.  They  are  loaded  down  with  a  humor 
which  is  that  of  the  man  on  the  street  —  perfectly  legiti 
mate  humor,  even  though  viewing  life  from  a  lower  level 
of  values. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  predominant  object  of  "The 
Sho-Gun,"  which  is  a  Korean  opera.  "  It  is  meant,"  explains 
Mr.  Ade  himself,  "  to  be  an  indirect  treatise  on  the  worship 
of  titles,  the  formation  of  trusts,  the  potency  of  the  American 
'pull,'  Yankee  commercial  invasion,  legal  manoeuvring, 
advertising  enterprise,  and  other  subjects  of  timely  interest." 

The  saving  grace  in  our  strenuous  existence  is  our  ap 
preciation  of  our  vagaries;  that  is  why  Mr.  Ade's  comic 
operas  are  as  stimulating  as  good  cartoons.  Besides  sup 
plying  the  sinuous  lines  of  color,  they  have  ideas  behind 
the  detail.  In  this  respect,  Mr.  Ade  is  not  so  very  far  re- 


274  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

moved  from  W.  S.  Gilbert,  though  lacking  in  facility  and 
in  grace.  He  has  defined  American  drama  as  one  in  which 
American  characters  are  dealt  with  "in  such  manner  as  to 
increase  our  self-respect  and  to  give  us  a  new  insight  into 
our  characteristics  as  a  people." 

Mr.  Ade's  humor  has  all  the  essence  of  good  comedy,  but 
its  form  is  unsteady  and  is  too  imitative  of  the  conventional 
musical  comedy  and  of  farce.  I  do  not  believe  I  am  far 
wrong  in  the  contention  that  our  stage  has  yet  to  under 
stand  the  true  meaning  of  comedy,  and  especially  so  when 
it  starts  out  to  create  comedy  in  a  spirit  which  is  really 
farce. 

However  incomplete  our  discussion,  we  have  at  least 
come  to  comprehend  the  justice  of  accusing  our  stage  of  mis 
interpreting  the  true,  permanent  function  of  comedy.  We 
need  a  new  nomenclature  in  order  to  divest  the  pure  type  of 
its  confusing  deviations.  Because  we  have  lost  the  rich 
meaning  of  comedy,  we  find  it  difficult,  save  in  "  An  Enemy 
of  the  People,"  to  understand  the  Comic  Spirit  in  Ibsen,  and 
it  is  only  by  this  realization  that  we  will  grasp  the  full  sig 
nificance  of  Ibsen's  optimism.  Humor  is  innate;  it  is  depend 
ent  as  much  upon  a  quick  fancy  as  upon  a  quick  response 
to  the  actual.  Though  it  is  not  self-conscious,  our  efforts 
toward  culture  ignore  the  strength  that  comes  from  a 
general  understanding  of  the  Comic  Spirit.  Our  American 
dramatists  mostly  reflect  their  humor  as  an  external  thing, 
though  there  is  a  difference  of  excellence  between  Mark 
Twain  and  George  Ade;  between  George  Ade  and  George 
M.  Cohan.  Raise  the  taste  for  the  true  Comic  Spirit,  which 
saturates  humanity  first,  and  creates  situation  secondarily, 
and  the  American  dramatist  will  become  more  vital  in  his 
whole  effect.  The  Comic  Spirit  exists  in  our  literature,  but 
not  so  in  our  drama;  because,  in  bulk,  our  plays  do  not  stand 
the  test  of  literature. 


GEOUGE  ADE 


FORMS  OF  AMERICAN  DRAMA         275 

And  yet,  the  theatre-goer  who  thinks  at  all  on  these  ques 
tions  as  to  the  essence  of  drama  will  feel  that  something  big 
should  eventually  come  from  American  humor  on  the  one 
hand,  and  from  our  national  sanity  on  the  other.  Certainly, 
when  the  accomplishment  reaches  us,  it  will  be  fraught  in 
large  measure  with  the  Comic  Spirit.1 

1  In  a  consideration  of  Comedy,  the  general  reader  is  referred 
to: 

"An  Essay  on  Comedy  and  the  Uses  of  the  Comic  Spirit."  George 
Meredith.  Scribner,  1905. 

"Representative  English  Comedies."  Edited  by  C.  M.  Gayley. 
Macmillan,  1903. 

"Moliere."  Translated  by  Curtis  Hidden  Page.  (2  vols.)  Put 
nam,  1908.  Besides  the  excellence  of  the  English  versions,  the 
books  contain  worthy  introductory  notes  and  a  full  bibliography. 
We  would  have  been  glad  to  see  somewhere  in  these  otherwise 
satisfactory  volumes  a  fuller  analysis  of  the  Comic  Spirit  in  Moliere. 

"Aristotle's  Theory  of  Poetry  and  Fine  Art."  S.  M.  Butcher. 
Macmillan,  1907. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  NEW  OR  A   NATIONAL  THEATRE 

HERETOFORE,  everything  that  has  been  written  about  the 
need  for  a  New  or  a  National  Theatre  in  America  has  been 
of  a  speculative  character.  Even  the  excellent  statistical 
book  by  William  Archer  and  Granville  Barker,  —  "  Scheme 
and  Estimates  for  a  National  Theatre,"  —  dealing  with  the 
conditions  for  endowment  as  they  exist  in  London,  is  of 
a  purely  chimerical,  though  serviceable  and  suggestive, 
nature. 

But  now,  we  have  actually  had  a  theatre  in  the  flesh,  so 
to  speak,  one  worked  on  principles  far  different  from  the 
commercial  theatre,  one  raised  during  its  initial  period  far 
beyond  the  need  of  financial  worry,  one  given  a  substantial 
building.  And  what  is  the  result?  During  a  trial  of  two 
years,  the  physical  proportions  of  the  theatre  itself  were 
found  to  be  too  large,  and  the  deficit  in  the  treasury  stood 
four  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

The  question  is  no  longer,  will  a  New  Theatre  succeed  — 
but,  has  the  idea  any  chance  whatsoever  under  present 
theatrical  conditions?  For  it  must  not  be  denied  that  the 
elements  of  success  for  any  movement  pointing  to  the 
betterment  of  a  national  art  and  of  a  National  or  New 
Theatre  cannot  be  kept  aloof  from  theatrical  conditions  as 
they  exist. 

No  art  given  over  to  a  dilettante  movement,  no  art  sep 
arated  from  the  civic  life  of  a  people  and  set  up  in  the  minds 


A  NEW  OR  A  NATIONAL  THEATRE     277 

of  a  few  individuals  intent  on  improving  the  drama  accord 
ing  to  their  personal  tastes  or  according  to  a  tradition 
foreign  to  the  country  in  which  the  theatre  is  to  exist,  may 
ever  hope  for  an  appeal  wide  enough  to  affect  national  taste. 

Let  us  look  carefully  into  the  subject,  and  try  to  reach 
some  conclusions  as  to  the  influence  of  the  New  Theatre  as 
it  actually  existed,  from  November,  1909,  to  May,  1911.  If, 
as  the  promoters  of  the  scheme  claimed,  it  was  not  the 
object  of  the  Directors  to  antagonize  the  commercial  theatre; 
if,  as  was  emphatically  declared  at  the  outset,  they  did  not 
intend  to  appeal  to  the  few,  but  to  reach  the  masses;  if,  as 
they  further  asserted,  they  were  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
snobbishness,  even  though  their  endowment  or  then*  sub 
sidy  or  their  income  —  call  it  by  whatever  name  you  please 
—  came  from  wealthy  sources,  then  what  was  their  intent? 
Were  they  to  force  the  public  to  take  what  was  caviare,  or 
were  they  to  appeal  to  the  public  taste,  as  it  is  now  trained 
by  the  commercial  manager? 

It  would  seem  that,  apart  from  the  mere  organization  of 
the  theatre  idea,  per  se,  which  included  much  of  the  detail 
so  graphically  set  down  by  Archer  and  Barker,  the  chief 
concern  of  any  new  artistic  movement  toward  the  better 
ment  of  theatrical  condition  would  be  in  organizing  a  public 
sufficiently  strong  to  assure  the  independent  existence  of  a 
National  or  a  New  Theatre,  which,  having  been  founded 
upon  endowment  or  subsidy,  soon  would  become  self- 
supporting  through  the  suffrage  of  the  people.  There  is 
no  doubt  that  toward  the  end  of  two  years,  Winthrop 
Ames,  as  first  Director  of  the  New  Theatre,  not  only  demon 
strated  that  there  was  an  audience  for  artistic  productions, 
but  he  met  difficulties  with  a  dignity  commensurate  with 
the  dignity  of  the  enterprise.  He  was  handicapped,  at  the 
outset,  with  three  negative  conditions.  First,  the  Board  of 
Directors  was  not  as  generous  in  its  support  as  it  should 


278  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

have  been;  second,  the  subscribers  were  not  as  cordial  as 
they  promised  to  be  to  the  repertory  idea;  and  finally,  good 
plays,  other  than  those  cornered  by  the  commercial  manager, 
were  not  plentiful. 

The  New  Theatre  l  was  erected  by  a  group  of  wealthy 
men  —  hence  its  popular  stigma,  "The  Millionaire  Play 
house" —  who  at  first  invested  their  money  in  the  scheme 
with  no  idea  of  receiving  or  of  claiming  any  returns  on  their 
investments,  other  than  the  privileges  granted  them  within 
the  theatre  during  its  active  season.  Whatever  profits 
accrued  —  and  it  was  not  expected  that  there  would  be 
any  profits  for  at  least  three  years  —  were  to  be  handed  over 
to  the  theatre  as  new  capital.  With  this  financial  backing, 
the  institution  could  be  considered  neither  endowed  nor 
subsidized. 

Nor  could  we  call  the  theatre  as  outlined  for  New  York  a 
National  Theatre,  inasmuch  as  American  theatrical  art 
is  too  closely  allied  with  British  art  to  ignore  the  British 
dramatist.  Therefore,  the  name  "New  Theatre,"  while 
non-committal,  was  satisfactory,  although  "Repertory 
Theatre"  might  have  been  better.  But  the  name  would 
not  have  mattered,  had  the  idea  and  spirit  behind  the 
organization  been  sustained  by  the  Board  of  Directors. 

Some  years  ago,  in  discussing  the  mission  of  the  modern 
magazine,  Dr.  Lyman  Abbott  asserted  that  it  was  doing  as 
much  as  any  other  factor  toward  dcprovincializing  America. 
But  he  failed  to  mention  among  the  great  institutional 
forces  of  modern  life  the  increasingly  important  position 
occupied  by  the  theatre,  a  position  consequent  upon  an 
increase  in  theatrical  territory,  and  upon  an  undermining  of 
the  long  existent  puritanical  prejudice  against  the  theatre  as 
a  source  of  iniquity. 

1  On  Central  Park  West  and  Sixty-second  Street,  New  York 
City. 


A    NEW    OR    A    NATIONAL    THEATRE    279 

There  are  over  three  thousand  recognized  houses  of  amuse 
ment  in  this  country  —  a  large  proportion  of  them  in  small 
towns  along  the  railroad  lines  connecting  the  chief  theatrical 
centres.  To  cut  one  off,  as  Mrs.  Fiske  and  David  Belasco 
were  cut,  from  these  intermediate  playhouses  between 
large  cities,  was  business  and  artistic  annihilation.  This 
was  the  method  adopted  by  the  Theatrical  Syndicate, 
whenever  a  rival  was  in  the  way. 

The  ethical  responsibility  of  catering  to  the  amusement 
interests  of  a  public  seems  incompatible  with  the  customary 
theatrical  idea.  In  the  eyes  of  business,  art  is  experimental, 
financial  returns  on  investment  an  actuality.  The  commercial 
tone  in  drama  has  resulted  in  three  dangers  characteristic 
of  Trust  ideas.  First,  until  recently,  it  has  very  largely 
discouraged  home  production  by  bringing  to  America  foreign 
plays  already  proven  and  already  advertised.  Second,  it 
has,  by  pleasing  the  eye,  given  a  minimum  of  thought  to  feed 
upon.  Third,  from  the  standpoint  of  organization,  it  has, 
by  the  variety  and  largeness  of  its  interests,  lost  much  of  the 
essence  and  concentration  that  should  mark  an  intelligent 
handling  of  the  situation. 

On  the  score  of  mere  mechanical  technique,  on  the  score 
of  the  booking  system,  nothing  may  be  said  against  theatrical 
organization.  It  is,  however,  from  an  abuse  of  the  method 
and  a  narrowness  of  the  motive,  that  the  idea  of  a  National 
Theatre,  of  a  New  Theatre,  or  of  any  theatre  pledged  to  the 
high  seriousness  of  dramatic  art,  first  came  into  being. 

It  is  a  wrong  theory  that  one  may  divorce  business  from 
dramatic  art ;  only  by  material  returns  is  one  able  to  measure 
popular  appeal  and  popular  response.  There  might,  at 
first  glance,  seem  to  be  insuperable  barriers  in  the  way  of 
the  establishment  of  a  National  or  even  of  a  New  Theatre, 
but  apart  from  the  human  reasons,  this  conception  is  due  to  a 
wrong  idea  as  to  the  exact  province  of  an  endowed  or  sub- 


280  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

sidized  institution,  among  a  number  of  theatres  run  strictly 
on  a  commercial  basis. 

As  Percy  Mackaye  has  reiterated,  both  in  speech  and  in 
writing,  the  obliteration  of  the  commercial  manager  from 
the  theatrical  horizon  would  in  no  way  alter  theatrical  con 
ditions  as  they  exist,  although  the  largest  obstacle  to  reform 
might  be  removed.  The  unthinking  theatre  man  is  one  with 
surplus  business  instinct,  and  with  little  innate  feeling  for 
the  product  he  handles.1  He  lacks  spiritual  refinement;  he 
underestimates,  if  he  estimates  at  all,  the  spiritual  and 
mental  demands  of  his  public.  Once  he  has  found  "  a  good 
thing,"  he  is  not  psychologist  enough  to  understand  that  a 
surfeit  of  a  particular  good  thing  dulls  popular  response. 

From  this  surfeit  has  grown  the  unfortunate  condition  of 
long  runs,  where  the  actor,  whatever  the  extent  of  his 
ability,  is  allowed  to  work  in  ruts,  where  there  is  no  chang 
ing  of  demands  made  upon  his  diversified  talents,  if  he  has  any 
talent  at  all.  The  work  of  the  American  actor  has  done 
much  for  the  American  manager;  it  has  made  the  best  of  a 
bad  bargain;  and  in  a  season  one  is  surprised  to  find  isolated 
bits  of  acting  which,  nurtured  on  a  repertoire  basis,  might 
develop  into  distinctive  art. 

There  is  a  tendency  to  establish  in  this  country  a  stock 
system,  somewhat  different  from  the  old-time  stock  days, 
yet  with  the  fundamental  idea  of  giving  to  the  actor  the 
asset  of  a  repertoire.2  But  in  the  stock  company,  which 

1  See   Robert  Grau's  "The  Business  Man  in  the  Amusement 
World,"  1910. 

2  The  ideal   stock   plays  are   "Shore  Acres,"    "Sag  Harbor," 
"Way  Down  East,"  "Alabama,"  "Arizona,"  "St.  Elmo,"  "Secret 
Service."     Plays  that  are  released  for  stock  often  make  fortunes 
for  their  authors.    The  final  step  in  the  progress  of  a  play  is  to  sell 
one's   rights  to   the  Kinetoscopic  Theatre.     Playwrights,  in   the 
latter  instance,  think  it  best  to  do  this;  otherwise  the  play  is  stolen 
and  mutilated.    In  one  summer  stock  company,  it  was  found  that 


A  NEW  OR  A  NATIONAL  THEATRE     281 

flourishes  particularly  in  the  Spring  and  Summer  seasons, 
there  is  an  inclination  to  overwork  the  actor,  even  though 
there  is  a  tendency  to  raise  thereby  the  vaudeville  houses 
to  a  plane  of  legitimacy.  And  what  is  more,  those  cities 
that  have  these  stock  companies  benefit  by  the  revival  of 
plays  that  have  had  their  season,  and  would  otherwise  be 
shelved. 

When  it  was  announced  that  New  York  was  to  have  a 
New  Theatre,  there  was  much  adverse  criticism.  Part  of 
this  came  from  quarters  naturally  antagonistic  to  any  as 
sured  competitor  in  the  field.  But  despite  the  unsuccessful 
outcome  of  a  two  years*  experiment,  the  New  Theatre  was 
in  no  way  a  competitor.  While  it  was  not  as  invigorating  as 
the  Theatre  Antoine  and  not  as  institutional,  because  not  as 
old,  as  the  Theatre  Fran£aise,  it  gave  us  an  art  faith  and 
represented  earnest  endeavor. 

Suspicion  was  instantly  thrown  upon  the  idea  of  a  New 
Theatre  because  of  its  "aristocratic"  origins,  because  of  its 
conservative  methods  of  changing  bills,  and  because  of  its 
affiliation  with  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House,  from  which 
source  it  was  to  draw  material  for  light  opera  of  the  type  of 
"Madame  Butterfly."  This  connection  was  found  to  be 
unprofitable  after  the  first  season,  and  so,  in  one  respect,  the 
New  Theatre  became  what  it  started  out  to  be,  a  home 
devoted  entirely  to  the  interests  of  drama. 

The  movement,  under  Director  Winthrop  Ames,  began 
with  a  prejudice  to  combat.  Others  had  been  ahead  of  him 
in  the  field  and  had  failed;  hence,  there  was  a  general  dis 
trust  of  any  movement  which  might  be  carried  on  in  aloof 
ness.  When  there  was  an  endeavor  on  foot  several  years  ago 
to  establish  a  National  Art  Theatre  Society,  however  wild 

a  play  was  being  given,  entitled  "The  Tavern  Keeper's  Daughter," 
—  a  mixture  of  "The  Girl  of  the  Golden  West"  and  "Alabama," 
with  a  flavor  of  "Arizona." 


282  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

and  unpractical  the  ideas  behind  it,  there  was  a  definite 
determination  to  incorporate  within  itself  the  intellectual 
energy  of  outside  institutions.  Upon  its  Board  of  Directors 
there  were  to  have  been  represented  a  member  each  from 
the  American  Dramatists  Club,  Columbia  University,  the 
Federated  Arts  Society,  the  Authors  Club,  even  the  Bar 
Association  and  the  Chamber  of  Commerce. 

In  its  initial  period,  the  New  Theatre  depended  too  much 
upon  a  close  policy.  And  it  did  not  reach  out  for  material; 
hence  it  failed  to  secure  much  encouragement  from  any 
prominent  American  dramatist.  This  might  have  been 
because  of  two  reasons :  first,  the  American  dramatist  of  note, 
being  astute,  may  have  wanted  to  see  how  the  venture  was 
to  succeed  before  becoming  identified  with  it;  and  second, 
the  American  dramatist  may  have  wanted  to  protect  his 
income,  based  on  royalties.  For  his  play,  as  accepted  by 
the  New  Theatre,  would  probably  run  no  more  than  thirty 
or  forty  times  during  a  season,  whereas  the  commercial 
manager  would  assure  him  an  uninterrupted  run  of  one 
hundred  and  forty  or  fifty  nights.  But  the  playwright  and 
the  manager  at  first  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that  the  avowed 
intention  of  the  New  Theatre  —  a  faith  kept  for  instance  in 
the  case  of  "The  Nigger,"  which  had  a  road  run  almost  as 
sensational  as  that  of  Thomas  A.  Dixon's  "  The  Clansman  " 
—  was  to  become  a  responsible  advance  agent  for  pieces 
whose  excellence  deserved  pecuniary  support. 

There  was  no  legitimate  basis  for  mistrust  of  the  New 
Theatre '  because  its  Board  of  Directors  thought  best  to 
appoint  a  member  of  the  established  Theatrical  Trust  as  an 
officer  in  the  institution.  This  was  done  purely  because 
that  member  could  bring  his  force  of  experience  to  bear  upon 
a  new  problem.  It  is  one  thing  to  regard  drama  as  a  closet 
product  or  as  an  art  form  subject  to  criticism,  but  if  a  theatre 
is  to  be  run  at  all,  it  must  deal  with  drama  practically, 


Photo,  by  Otto  Sarony  Co 


MINNIE  MADDERN  FISKE 


A  NEW  OR  A  NATIONAL  THEATRE     283 

exercising  the  elements  of  selection,  expenditure,  and  pub 
licity  for  its  dissemination  through  proper  channels.  That 
is  why  a  member  of  the  commercial  theatre  was  made 
treasurer. 

Much  ill-feeling  was  manifest  against  the  New  Theatre 
because  the  Director  selected  so  many  English  actors  for  his 
casts,  but  this  was  very  likely  due  to  the  fact  that  the  best 
American  players  were  tied  up  with  contracts,  and  also 
because  the  English  actor  is  better  accustomed  to  the 
repertory  idea.  Miss  Marlowe  and  Mr.  Sothern  opened 
the  theatre  in  a  sumptuous  production  of  "Antony  and 
Cleopatra,"  but,  apart  from  whether  or  not  the  play  suited 
their  talents,  their  ideas  were  not  in  accord  with  those  of  the 
New  Theatre.  Miss  Annie  Russell  became  a  member  of  the 
company  for  a  period,  but  in  no  drama  was  she  happily 
placed;  so  she  resigned.  The  Director  made  a  mistake 
when  he  mounted  "Becky  Sharp,"  for  instead  of  having 
Mrs.  Fiske  in  Langdon  Mitchell's  version  of  "Vanity  Fair," 
he  asked  Marie  Tempest,  and  chose  Cosmo  Gordon-Lennox's 
version. 

It  was  the  general  belief  some  years  ago,  when  the  scheme 
for  a  National  Theatre  was  agitated  in  this  country,  that 
there  would  be  no  reason  why,  as  soon  as  the  sentiment  was 
thoroughly  grounded,  the  plans  should  not  be  put  into 
execution,  as  the  practical  outcome  of  a  sane  idealism,  one 
which,  knowing  the  limits  of  an  art  and  realizing  the  differ 
ences  beween  dramaturgy  and  literature,  seeks  for  a  balance 
between  the  two.  But  as  soon  as  a  definite  building  was 
erected,  the  order  of  reasoning  was  reversed.  The  question 
then  became:  Was  the  New  Theatre  established  on  the  sup 
position  that  there  was  a  public,  other  than  a  subscription 
public,  to  fill  its  floor  and  galleries?  The  university  spirit 
might  supply  it  with  an  audience  of  literary  tasters,  but  the 
average  public  refuses  to  be  bored.  Besides  which,  the  average 


284  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

public  has  limited  means  for  enjoyment,  and  when  they 
went  to  the  galleries  of  the  New  Theatre,  they  found  the 
strain  upon  the  ear,  and  particularly  upon  the  eye,  more  than 
they  could  stand.  Hence  the  wage  earner  stayed  away,  and 
it  was  rarely  that  the  auditorium  of  the  New  Theatre  was 
filled.1 

In  fact,  at  the  outset,  the  institution  was  confronted  with 
the  correlated  difficulties  of  having  to  select  a  repertory  for  a 
public  which  it  had  to  train.  But  instead  of  training  that 
public,  the  New  Theatre  dealt  too  much  with  novelty.  It 
only  realized  too  late  that  the  first  thing  it  should  have 
done  was  to  have  accustomed  its  actors  to  a  permanent 
stock  of  plays,  sufficiently  varied  to  satisfy  the  boxholders 
while  new  productions  were  in  preparation.  It  did  not 
realize  that  if  it  departed  beyond  that  all-important  aim  of 
repertory,  it  would  lift  itself  out  of  the  immediate  public 
influence,  and  serve  only  as  an  example  of  what  might  be, 
after  another  institution  had  educated  public  taste  to  re 
ceive  it.  The  Director  was  wrong  in  his  disregard  of  demo 
cratic  interests,  though  he  might  with  reason  have  pointed 
to  his  production  of  Galsworthy's  "Strife"  with  some  show 
of  pride. 

It  is  always  well  to  bear  in  mind  the  purposes  of  a  National 
Theatre — a  home  where  dramatic  art  may  be  encouraged  in 
an  ideal  building,  where  a  repertory  of  dignified  and  per 
manent  worth  may  be  fostered,  where  the  American  play 
may  be  encouraged,  where  a  standard  of  pronunciation  may 
be  adopted,  a  conservatory  established  for  the  education  of 
the  actor,  and  a  dramatic  library  founded  for  those  volumes 
which  are  now  foolishly  being  scattered. 

1  The  New  Theatre,  however,  gave  several  performances  at 
reduced  prices,  especially  for  the  wage  earners,  and  the  immediate 
response  was  gratifying,  though  the  theatre  itself  lost  money  in  the 
venture. 


A  NEW  OR  A  NATIONAL  THEATRE     285 

With  a  building  of  ideal  proportions  in  New  York  —  con 
sidered  to  be  the  commercial  centre  of  the  New  World, 
even  though  some  might  doubt  its  claim  to  being  the  art 
centre  —  one  cannot  take  from  New  York  the  fact  that  it  is 
the  most  cosmopolitan  city  in  the  Union,  and  that,  for  this 
reason,  more  people  of  the  different  sections  would  have  an 
opportunity  of  passing  through  the  doors  of  a  New  Theatre 
there  than  elsewhere. 

The  institution,  at  the  outset,  was  handicapped  by  too 
large  a  building,  the  foundations  of  which  were  originally 
based  on  plans  accepted  by  Heinrich  Conried,  whose  ample 
ideas  were  colored  by  his  opera  ambitions.  This  building 
they  were  obliged  to  abandon  after  a  tenure  of  two  years, 
by  their  move  showing  that  a  New  Theatre  does  not  imply 
a  large  building,  but  one  happily  proportioned  for  all  neces 
sities.  Had  the  theatre  not  been  subjected  to  the  hiatus 
of  a  year  —  during  which  time  probably  another  building 
will  be  erected,  more  in  accord  with  the  requirements  of  the 
spoken  drama  —  one  might  have  been  justified  in  con 
cluding  that  an  artistic  and  financial  success  would  have 
resulted  in  similar  theatres  being  built  in  the  large  cities  of 
the  country.  But  inasmuch  as  the  New  Theatre  has  had 
a  set  back,  cities  such  as  Boston,  Philadelphia,  and  Chicago 
are  justified  in  attempting  a  National  Theatre  from  their 
own  individual  viewpoints. 

People  approached  the  first  year  of  the  New  Theatre  with 
every  hope  that  it  would  select  a  repertory  sufficiently  catho 
lic  to  satisfy  the  masses,  that  it  would  present  dramas  — 
apart  from  Shakespearean  revivals  —  sufficiently  strong  to 
show  the  commercial  manager  that  it  pays  to  select  plays 
of  true  worth;  that,  finally,  it  would,  through  its  successes, 
afford  new  incentive  to  the  playwright,  and  infuse  into  the 
general  theatrical  situation  assurance  that  good  dramatic 
art  is  only  that  art  which  is  supported  through  the  suffrage 


280  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

of  the  people.  The  New  Theatre  strove  earnestly  to  fulfill 
these  requirements,  but  opposition,  together  with  its  own 
errors,  handicapped  it.  The  period  of  its  tenure  was  too 
short,  however,  to  judge  finally;  but  during  its  two  years  it 
had  ample  opportunity  to  alter  its  course  on  the  mistakes  of 
its  first  season.  The  Board  of  Directors — standing  to  lose,  even 
though  the  figures  mounted  to  four  hundred  thousand  dollars 

—  should  have  approached  their  task  in  this  manner :  After  a 
year,  has  the  institution,  in  its  repertoire  and  in  its  acting, 
made  any  artistic  impress  upon  the  theatrical  situation  ?   After 
four  years  —  for  it  takes  that  long  to  balance  the  machinery 

—  does  dramatic  art  pay?    If  it  does  not,  then  the  Directors 
would  have  had  a  right  to  question  whether  the  New  Theatre 
had  been  presenting  good  dramatic  art,  by  which  we  mean 
high  art  for  the  greatest  numbers.     But  the  Directors  did 
not  keep  full  faith  with  the  idea  of  a  New  Theatre.    After  the 
first  year  had  proven  that  the  building  was  too  large,  while 
alterations  were  being  made  for  the  second  season,  work 
should  have  been  started  upon  a  new  playhouse.      For  it 
was  easily  discernible  that  such  solid  physical  proportions 
as  marked  the  New  Theatre  could  never  be  properly  altered. 
Then  there  would  have  been  no  necessity  to  have  a  period 
of  waiting,  such  as  the  New  Theatre  will  have  to  go  through 
when  the  season  of  1911-12  begins.     The  resumption  of 
an  idea  is  difficult  to  foster. 

Under  the  management  of  Director  Ames,  the  New  Theatre 
scheme  did  not  fail.1  It  is  something  for  a  manager  to  be 
able  to  boast  that  under  his  tenure  of  two  years,  he  pro- 

1  See  W.  P.  Eaton's  "At  the  New  Theatre  and  Others;"  "Scheme 
and  Estimates  for  a  National  Theatre"  by  William  Archer  and 
Granville  Barker;  and  Henry  Arthur  Jones's  "Renascence  of  the 
English  Drama."  I  would  refer  the  reader  to  three  books  dealing 
with  the  English  situation  :  Mario  Borso's  "The  English  Stage  of 
To-day;"  P.  P.  Howe's  "The  Repertory  Theatre;"  and  Desmond 
McCarthy's  "The  Court  Theatre:  1904-1907." 


A  NEW  OR  A  NATIONAL  THEATRE     287 

cluced  such  an  excellent  spectacle  as  Maeterlinck's  "The 
Blue  Bird,"  such  an  effective  social  piece  as  Galsworthy's 
"Strife,"  such  a  distinctive  study  of  characters  as  Pinero's 
"The  Thunderbolt,"  and  such  a  poignant  morality  as 
Maeterlinck's  "Sister  Beatrice."  He  could  have  done  no 
better  than  to  profit  by  the  sensible  and  effective  tastes 
of  his  assistant  producers,  Hamilton  Bell  and  George 
Foster  Platt.  No  commercial  manager  could  have  so 
excelled  in  the  mounting  of  Miss  Peabody's  "The  Piper," 
or  of  certain  scenes  in  that  peculiarly  exotic  piece,  "The 
Witch,"  which  was  Americanized  from  the  Danish,  or  of 
Shakespearean  comedies.  Besier's  "Don"  was  enjoyable, 
George  Paston's  "Nobody's  Daughter"  far  above  the* 
ordinary.  In  fact,  the  New  Theatre  idea  cannot  be  called 
a  failure. 

Mr.  Ames  created  a  position  of  Literary  Director  —  a 
person  to  be  largely  responsible  for  directing  proper  material 
in  New  Theatre  channels.  After  the  first  3rear,  the  scope  of 
this  position  was  altered.  In  the  first  season,  two  thousand 
manuscripts  were  read,  and  from  this  deluge,  no  great  Ameri 
can  product  was  forthcoming.  Edward  Sheldon's  "The 
Nigger,"  whose  one  excellence  was  its  theatrical  effect, 
even  though  the  arrangement  of  its  historical  ideas  was 
false  to  the  South  in  the  way  that  Mrs.  Stowe's  "Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin"  was  false  to  the  South  —  was  a  success. 

In  reviewing  the  New  Theatre  idea  and  its  existence  of 
two  years,  I  cannot  but  regard,  with  pleasurable  feeling, 
the  Shakespearean  productions.  We  advance  by  means 
of  our  mistakes,  and  the  Directors  should  have  realized  this. 
They  registered  no  vital  complaint  outside  the  fact  of  losing. 
My  grievance  against  the  two  seasons  is  directed  against 
the  inability  of  the  New  Theatre  to  encourage  the  American 
drama,  even  if  it  had  had  to  offer  special  financial  induce 
ments  legitimately  to  take  the  American  dramatist  away 


288  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

from  the  commercial  manager.  Yet,  when  it  came  to  select 
ing  revivals  from  the  American  drama  of  the  past,  I  would 
sympathize  with  the  quandary  of  any  Director.  For  the 
American  drama  is  in  the  making,  and  a  theatre  cannot 
support  itself  on  experiments  that  fail.  Even  an  art  theatre, 
however  subsidized,  must  pay. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   ADVANCE   OF  AMERICAN   DRAMA   SINCE    1910 

AMERICA  in  her  turn  has  been  affected  by  those  forces  which 
have  resulted  in  a  change  of  form  and  spirit  in  the  drama  of 
continental  countries.     The  slow  infusion  of  ideas  affecting 
social  and  economic  relations  abroad,  before  the  Great  War, 
has  had  its  effect  uponjthe  American  stage.    In  the  Nineties,  v- 
our  so-called  intellectual  players  were  pioneers  in  introducing 
Ibsen  to  the  American  public.    Then,  close  upon  the  success 
of  the  Norwegian,  came,  one  by  one,  the  performances  of  the 
then  considered  advanced  dramas  of  George  Bernard  Shaw  " 
—  plays  "  Pleasant  and  Unpleasant." 

In  a  theatrical  world  which  had  heretofore  been  used  only 
to  the  conventional  romantic  and  social  drama  of  England, 
these  seemingly  revolutionary  plays  were  obliged  to  have 
their  due  effect  on  the  theatre-going  public.  It  so  happened 
that  the  plays  of  Ibsen  and  Shaw  were  likewise  readable  plays; 
they  gained  a  foothold  in  the  theatre  just  when  reform  or 
ganizations  were  working  for  the  betterment  of  theatre  audi 
ences,  and  were  encouraging  the  reading  of  plays.  Take  into 
consideration,  therefore,  the  impulse  to  read,  and  the  fact 
that  most  of  the  dramas  coming  from  abroad  had  literary 
flavor,  and  it  is  readily  seen  that  the  changing  spirit  of  mod 
ern  drama  would,  in  America,  have  two  channels  through 
which  to  impress  itself  on  the  public  —  the  theatre  and  the 
printed  book. 

There  has  been  a  renaissance  of  interest  in  the  theatre 


290  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

throughout  the  United  States,  as  there  has  been  a  vast  re 
naissance  of  interest  in  the  theatre  abroad.  This  popular 
concern  has  expressed  itself  in  several  ways.  In  America  it 
has  been  fostered,  very  largely,  through  the  aims  and  objects 
and  activities  of  the  Drama  League  of  America.  If  that 
organization  has  done  little  more  than  awaken  within  people 
a  sense  of  the  appreciation  of  drama  in  the  printed  form,  it 
has  accomplished  something  of  vast  meaning  which  had  not 
heretofore  been  accomplished.  To  the  Drama  League,  un 
doubtedly,  belongs  a  large  credit  of  having  fostered  this  taste. 

The  interest  thus  furthered  has  met  with  self-conscious 
response  on  the  part  of  a  vast  public  in  America.  It  has,  by 
its  own  spontaneity,  forced  upon  the  universities  and  colleges 
the  necessity  of  considering  modern  drama  and  the  modern 
playhouse  as  subjects  worthy  to  be  included  in  the  educa 
tional  curriculum.  This  interest  is  not  based  upon  any  case 
of  special  pleading.  The  New  Theatre  experiment  failed 
because  of  definite  flaws  in  the  conditions  under  which  it 
flourished  for  a  few  short  years.  That  failure  has  had  no 
effect  in  discounting  the  hope  for  the  future  betterment  of  the 
playhouse  and  of  the  play  as  seen  in  the  present  renaissance. 

Through  the  energies  of  the  Drama  League,  it  has  been 
driven  home  to  the  theatre-going  public  in  the  United  States 
that  the  country  has  had  a  theatrical  history  in  the  past. 
Not  only  have  a  large  number  of  persons  been  made  aware 
of  this  history  through  ocular  demonstration,  in  exhibits, 
in  special  performances,  and  in  magazine  articles  and  lec 
tures,  but  the  different  periods  of  American  drama  have  been 
so  thoroughly  discussed  that  no  writer  to-day,  in  considering 
the  literature  of  America,  would  ignore  the  special  field  of 
drama  as  it  has  been  heretofore  ignored.  Texts  of  old  Ameri 
can  plays  at  one  time  unavailable,  except  in  rare  first  editions, 
have  been  made  accessible  through  reprints.  While  it  may 
be  claimed  with  some  truth  that  the  dialogue  of  the  early 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  SINCE  1910         291 

American  drama  is  unliterary,  it  is  nevertheless  significant 
in  its  social  reflection  —  significant  in  so  far  as  in  most  in 
stances  it  kept  close  to  the  soil  and  tried  to  reflect  passing 
national  events.  What  better  example  of  the  Colonial  spirit 
of  special  pleading  than  in  Robert  Rogers'  "Ponteach";  what 
clearer  mirror  of  changing  temper  than  in  the  "Military 
Glory  of  Great  Britain/'  or  John  Leacock's  "The  Fall  of 
British  Tyranny";  what  more  fascinating  comparison  than 
the  dramatic  work  of  the  students  of  our  American  colleges 
preceding  the  Revolution  with  the  dramatic  work  of  the  stu 
dents  in  our  American  colleges  to-day?  The  re-awakened 
interest  in  the  past  of  American  Drama  has  impressed  upon 
the  literary  student  the  fact  that  equally  as  significant  of 
the  temper  of  the  American  Revolution  as  the  Revolutionary 
broadsides  and  fiery  political  addresses,  are  the  plays  of  Mrs. 
Mercy  Warren;  that  equally  as  valuable  as  state  papers  in 
reflecting  the  spirited  times  of  the  opening  of  the  Revolution 
is  Hugh  Henry  Brackenridge's  "The  Battle  of  Bunker's- 
Hill." 

In  a  preceding  chapter  some  general  idea  has  been  given  of 
the  trend  in  the  development  of  American  drama,  from  its 
earliest  period  to  the  advent  of  Bronson  Howard.  The  gaps 
in  the  history,  as  indicated,  have  been  very  largely  filled  since 
1910.  Through  the  zealous  researches  of  a  few  students, 
valuable  private  collections  of  American  dramas  now  preserve 
for  the  future  the  whole  history  of  the  American  theatre. 
Where,  heretofore,  there  was  indifference  regarding  the  fate 
of  American  theatrical  documents,  there  is  now  an  awakened 
interest  in  the  preservation  of  those  documents.  The  interest 
has  emphasized  more  and  more  the  necessity  of  continuing  to 
preserve  the  best  that  has  been  done  by  the  American  drama 
tist;  and  of  encouraging  the  younger  dramatists  to  publish 
their  plays,  especially  in  view  of  the  fact  that  one  of  the  char 
acteristics  of  the  changing  drama  has  been  the  improvement 


292  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

of  the  literary  character  of  dramatic  dialogue.  One  feels  that 
the  limitation  of  Bronson  Howard,  as  far  as  a  future  estimate 
is  concerned,  rests  in  the  unliterary  character  of  his  writing, 
which  was  the  dramatic  style  of  his  time.  One  feels  that  the 
vitality  in  Clyde  Fitch  rests  partly  in  'the  fact  that  he  pos 
sessed  a  literary  quality  far  above  the  style  of  many  of  his 
contemporaries.  One  hails  the  publication  of  the  plays  by 
Augustus  Thomas  because  of  the  value  a  close  study  of  their 
workmanship  will  have  for  the  student,  oftentimes  their 
workmanship  far  exceeding  the  importance  of  the  content  of 
the  play.  Now  that  the  dramas  of  Charles  Klein  have  been 
published,  one  is  able  more  closely  to  see  those  pitfalls  in  his 
work  which  were  covered  up  by  the  sheer  force  of  the  actable 
quality  of  such  dramas  as  "The  Lion  and  the  Mouse"  and 
"The  Gamblers." 

Such  intensive  study  of  the  American  drama  as  has  been 
taking  place  recently  has  necessarily  resulted  in  some  change 
in  critical  point  of  view,  not  alone  regarding  the  value  of  the 
history  of  the  past  in  the  American  theatre,  but  also  in  the 
measurement  of  the  contributions  made  by  the  American 
dramatists  of  the  past.  The  necessary  increase  in  library 
facilities  to  meet  the  new  interest  in  drama  has  accentuated 
and  aggravated  the  question  of  the  specialized  theatrical 
library,  as  outlined  in  the  chapter  on  "The  Need  for  a  Dra 
matic  Library."  Appropriations  are  being  set  aside  to  sat 
isfy  public  interest  in  the  reading  of  plays.  The  families  of 
those  American  dramatists,  who  are  considered  mile-posts  in 
the  development,  are  helping  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of 
these  dramatists  by  definite  gifts  for  the  enrichment  of  dra 
matic  centres.  Where,  heretofore,  the  library  of  Bronson 
Howard  was  left  to  the  Dramatists  Club,  since  1910  the  en 
tire  estate  of  Bronson  Howard  has  been  turned  over  to  the 
same  institution,  which  now  acts  as  his  literary  executor.  A 
lectureship  on  drama  has  been  established  at  Amherst  in 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  SINCE   1910         293 

memory  of  Clyde  Fitch.  And  several  movements  have  been 
on  foot  since  the  death  of  Charles  Klein  on  board  the  Lusi- 
tania,  to  identify  his  name  with  the  theatre  which  he  always 
served  faithfully  and  earnestly. 

These  activities  have  not  failed  of  their  influence  on  the 
rising  generation  of  American  playwrights.  There  are  still 
writers  who  feel  compelled  to  the  dramatic  form,  not  because 
of  any  definite  instruction,  but  because  their  genius  impels 
them  in  that  direction.  But,  since  1910,  though  there  have 
been  many  significant  single  plays,  there  has  been  no  over 
topping  accomplishment  which  would  deserve  a  special  and 
lengthy  consideration  here.  Some  very  hopeful  signs  have 
been  given  that  there  is  in  the  United  States  great  poten 
tiality  for  the  future  of  the  American  theatre.  One  cannot 
look  without  encouragement  toward  a  number  of  new  men 
whose  work,  while  not  fully  comparable  with  the  work  of  the 
literary  and  realistic  school  of  playwrights  in  England,  never 
theless  measures  a  change  for  the  better  in  spirit  and  tech 
nique.  Every  year  some  new  name  is  added  to  the  already 
ample  list  of  American  dramatists  —  a  name  brought  into 
prominence  by  phenomenal  success.  This  success  may  not 
be  sufficiently  assuring  to  guarantee  a  permanent  position, 
but  at  least  it  demonstrates  that  the  theatrical  activity  is  a 
healthy  and  insistent  one. 

We  need  not  be  disappointed  over  American  dramatic 
energy  which  is  contributed  to  the  theatre.  So  rapidly  has 
the  increase  taken  place  that  such  men  as  Bronson  Howard, 
Clyde  Fitch,  and  James  A.  Herne  may  now  be  regarded  as 
pioneers  rather  than  as  actual  forces  in  the  theatre.  Others 
have  followed  in  their  wake  —  men  with  more  originality, 
with  more  technical  freedom,  and  with  more  artistry  in  the 
creation  of  types.  Some  of  them  have  been  knocking  at  the 
door  for  recognition  these  many  years,  and  have  only  just 
met  with  success. 


294  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

There  are  those  who  still  believe  that  William  Vaughn 
Moody's  "The  Great  Divide"  struck  the  highest  note  yet 
reached  in  American  drama.  While  a  vast  amount  of  dra 
matic  effectiveness  may  be  recognized  in  that  play,  Moody 
should  be  estimated  primarily  as  a  distinctive  poet,  interested 
in  the  dramatic  form,  but  not  master  of  it.  Much  more  sure 
in  form  is  Eugene  Walter,  though  commercial  demands  have 
pushed  him  into  hasty  work.  But  even  in  his  plays,  Mr. 
Walter  shows  a  certain  vigor.  "The  Wolf"  was  not  a  great 
play,  but  it  was  an  effective  melodrama.  "Paid  in  Full," 
which  has  served  as  model  for  so  many  imitators,  had  the 
virtue  of  one  character  who  was  virtueless:  the  clerk  who 
pushes  his  wife  into  compromising  herself.  "  Fine  Feathers," 
three  times  rewritten  before  it  succeeded  on  the  stage,  pos 
sessed  tenseness  of  purpose.  But  the  top-notch  of  Mr. 
Walter's  activity  so  far  remains  "  The  Easiest  Way  "  —  in 
its  technique,  in  its  poignancy  of  characterization,  and  in  its 
liveness  of  theme.  Though  lacking  in  brilliancy,  it  is  the  best 
work  an  American  dramatist  has  done  in  recent  times.  One 
may  say  this  truthfully,  fully  aware  of  the  literary  value  of 
many  of  Clyde  Fitch's  plays,  and  recognizing  the  easy  grace 
with  which  Augustus  Thomas  writes  dialogue. 

On  the  whole,  it  would  seem  that  what  is  the  matter  with 
most  of  our  American  drama  of  recent  years  is  that  it  lacks 
conviction  of  the  larger  kind  —  conviction  as  to  our  national 
aims,  as  to  our  individual  destiny,  as  to  our  moral  standards. 
We  have  had  occasion  to  note  it  before.  This  defect  may  be 
attributable  to  the  fact  that  the  American  dramatist  has 
always  possessed  the  facile  ability  to  paint  things  as  they  are, 
in  their  surface  relations  —  an  ability  which  all  the  younger 
writers  possess  to  a  surprising  degree. 

When  an  author  approaches  a  certain  phase  of  human 
activity  with  authority,  combining  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  subject  with  an  artistic  handling  of  the  human  qualities 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  SINCE   1910          295 

of  his  characters,  the  result  is  something  very  close  to  life. 
In  England,  John  Galsworthy  is  endowed  with  a  social  con 
science,  one  which  is  turning  him  into  a  citizen  playwright  of 
the  most  forceful  sort.  In  "Justice"  he  sounds  the  note  of 
the  social  reformer  humanized;  his  vision  is  philosophic  and 
brutally  poignant.  Earlier  in  the  chronological  order  of 
presentment,  "The  Silver  Box"  discusses  two  standards  of 
justice,  showing  their  causes  and  effects  in  striking  situations. 
There  has  been  a  consistent  development  in  Galsworthy's 
work  along  definite  lines  of  interest,  conviction,  and  vision. 
In  his  artistic  treatment,  he  has  developed  a  sense  of  "the 
irony  of  things"  that  serves  to  make  the  situations  with 
which  he  deals  richer  and  deeper  in  their  lasting  quality. 

Since  1910,  the  American  stage  has  witnessed  flashes  of  the 
same  thing,  but  the  flashes  have  not  been  sustained.  We 
were  given  a  play  by  Charles  Kenyon  called  "Kindling," 
sincere  in  its  treatment  of  the  tenement  problem,  combining 
effectiveness  of  scene  with  feeling  for  character:  there  was 
also  in  it  the  earnestness  of  a  man  who  felt  deeply  the  subject 
he  was  exploiting.  Yet  "Kindling"  failed  after  a  struggle 
for  existence.  It  was  battered  here  and  there  until,  through 
the  assistance  of  the  Drama  League,  it  met  with  success  in 
Chicago.  But  it  was  not  a  box-office  success  which,  accord 
ing  to  the  commercial  theatre,  a  play  must  be  in  order  that  it 
remain  in  the  running;  it  was  neither  so  startling  in  its  situa 
tions  nor  so  alluring  in  its  sex  appeal  as  to  attract  Broadway 
audiences.  Then  Kenyon,  who  is  a  San  Francisco  newspaper 
man,  possessed  of  a  rare  sense  of  what  Galsworthy  calls 
"the  irony  of  life,"  wrote  another  play,  "Husband  and 
Wife,"  and  it  was  marked  by  seriousness  of  purpose  and  orig 
inality  of  treatment,  even  though  it  was  the  old-time,  hack 
neyed  subject  treated  by  Eugene  Walter  in  "Fine  Feathers," 
of  married  people  living  beyond  their  means,  and  pushed  into 
speculation  through  the  swift  pace  of  American  life.  Some 


296  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

time  in  the  immediate  future,  Mr.  Kenyon  will  be  recognized 
for  his  intent  purpose  and  his  strong,  virile,  original  handling 
of  American  character. 

A  man  of  greater  activity  and  of  the  same  order  of  ear 
nestness  is  Joseph  Medill  Patterson,  who  has  put  his  social 
conscience  into  civic  practice,  as  well  as  giving  it  artistic  ex 
pression.  In  his  "  Little  Brother  of  the  Rich,"  "  The  Fourth 
Estate,"  and  "Rebellion,"  he  showed  his  interest  in  matters 
pertaining  to  the  public  good  and  his  concern  about  certain 
problems  in  city  life.  He  is  one  of  the  few  men  writing  drama 
who  has  consistently  developed  along  the  line  of  his  own  con 
viction;  who  reveals  a  definite  habit  of  thought.  His  news 
paper  experience  has  left  him  with  a  set  social  purpose.  He 
lacks  brilliancy  of  touch,  as  well  as  lightness  of  sentiment. 
His  plays  are  drab  and  melodramatic;  he  is  not  always  sure 
in  his  technique.  But  he  is  not  shifting  in  his  standards,  as 
so  many  of  our  younger  playwrights  are. 

I  do  not  want  a  dramatist  to  steep  all  his  plays  in  the  same 
color;  if  he  has  the  ability  to  surprise  us  with  an  entire 
change  in  technique  and  style  each  time  he  writes  a  play, 
such  facility  will  proclaim  him  a  genius,  without  mannerism 
and  without  trickery.  For  mere  play  writing,  as  opposed  to 
the  genuine  genius  of  the  dramatist,  is  a  matter  of  manner 
and  trickery.  But  the  genuine  play  is  that  which  contains, 
not  only  manner  and  legitimate  trickery,  but  personal  con 
viction  besides.  The  American  dramatist  has  not  always 
approached  his  subject  with  authority  or  with  personal 
conviction. 

The  uncertain  stability  of  conviction  is  seen  in  the  work  of 
Edward  Sheldon,  who,  since  his  very  beginning,  has  exhibited 
an  expertness  in  technique,  and  a  variety  in  subject  matter, 
which  are  unusual  in  the  younger  men  of  the  theatre.  After 
he  left  Harvard,  as  a  student  of  Professor  Baker  in  "Work 
shop  47,"  when  "Salvation  Nell"  was  produced,  he  was 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  SINCE  1910         297 

rightly  hailed  as  a  new  and  hopeful  sign.  He  had  come  from 
the  university  atmosphere  with  an  observation  not  centred 
on  traditional  things,  but  fresh  for  the  newer  life-stuff  around 
him.  It  was  rugged  work,  dependent  largely  upon  what 
Mrs.  Fiske  put  into  it  as  a  stage-manager;  but  there  was 
sincerity  in  it  to  the  end.  When  he  undertook,  in  "The 
Nigger,"  to  treat  the  Southern  negro  problem,  he  was  found 
to  have  a  quick  sense  of  the  dramatic  elements  in  the  thesis, 
without  having  a  very  sound  or  deep  idea  of  the  social  prob 
lem  he  sought  to  discuss. 

Then  plays  began  to  come  thick  and  fast  from  the  pen  of 
Mr.  Sheldon  —  one,  "  The  Boss,"  based  on  the  reading  of  an 
editorial  in  a  magazine.  His  quickness  to  sense  theatricalism 
has  always  been  uppermost  since  he  left  Harvard,  but  in  no 
way  has  he  shown  a  vivid  insight  into  condition.  Contrast 
"Salvation  Nell"  with  Shaw's  "Major  Barbara."  We  did 
not  expect  Sheldon  to  come  from  college  with  full-fledged 
Fabian  wisdom  at  his  finger-tips,  but  we  have  seen  since  that 
time  no  disposition  on  his  part  to  enrich  his  understanding  of 
men  and  condition.  He  is  still  hasty,  crude;  and  he  leans 
heavily  on  his  ability  to  marshal  detail.  That  is  why,  so 
often,  we  find  Sheldon's  energy  expended  in  revising  the 
work  of  other  people;  we  find  him  filling  the  position  which 
recent  years  have  created  in  the  theatre  —  the  position  of 
"Play-Doctor,"  where  half-baked  dramas  are  turned  over 
to  those  who,  like  Sheldon  and  George  Broadhurst,  are 
skilled  in  the  mere  mechanics  of  stage  structure,  and  who  try 
to  strengthen  and  fortify.  Even  the  time  expended  by  Shel 
don  in  a  clever  though  valueless  dramatization  of  Suder- 
mann's  "Song  of  Songs"  would  have  been  more  wisely  spent 
on  an  original  play,  though  the  results  showed  his  ability  as 
a  dramatizer. 

In  other  words,  Edward  Sheldon  has  not  yet  placed  him 
self  definitely  in  the  development  of  American  drama.  Read 


298  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

"The  Nigger"  and  then  realize  how  lacking  in  profundity  it 
is,  with  little  reflection  of  the  true  characteristics  of  the 
Negro.  Note  the  difference  in  methods  between  his  "Ro 
mance"  and  Clyde  Fitch's  "Captain  Jinks  of  the  Horse 
Marines";  you  will  discover  Sheldon's  inability  to  absorb 
atmosphere  and  Fitch's  excellent  power  of  identifying  him 
self  with  the  past.  Sheldon  has  been  in  the  theatrical  game 
long  enough  to  have  ripened  in  his  vision.  He  has  done  work 
which,  on  better  judgment,  he  should  have  refused  to  do. 
He  drives  his  fancy  and  fails  to  catch  the  spirit  of  Hans 
Andersen  in  his  version  of  "The  Mermaid,"  called  "The 
Garden  of  Paradise."  He  becomes  specious  in  the  "Song  of 
Songs,"  where  the  technique  should  have  been  that  of  Pi- 
nero's  "  Iris."  His  exuberant  dramatic  sense  is  what  we  want 
protected.  He  seems  to  be  feeling  around  everywhere,  with 
out  fully  deciding  for  himself  what  this  life  is  all  about.  It 
is  this  very  separating  of  his  interest  which  hurts  his  value 
and  his  effectiveness.  Yet  his  versatility  makes  us  persist 
in  the  hope  of  his  finding,  some  day,  his  equilibrium.  He 
needs  the  reducing  glass  to  restrict  his  observation  and  to 
make  it  deeper  and  more  intense.  Such  a  play  as  "The 
High  Road"  is  justification  of  this  statement;  therein  he  is 
true  to  his  moral  purpose,  but  he  does  not  concentrate. 

A  number  of  years  ago,  when  Thomas  and  Fitch  loomed 
on  the  dramatic  horizon  as  the  most  permanent  dramatic 
figures,  Charles  Klein  and  George  Broadhurst  were  knocking 
at  the  door  for  entrance.  Klein  was  laboring  over  the  libretto 
of  "El  Capitan,"  and  Broadhurst  was  writing  farces.  They 
had  not  made  for  themselves  the  fortunes  which  were  later  in 
store  for  them.  In  a  previous  chapter  Klein  has  been  dis 
cussed.  Broadhurst's  "Bought  and  Paid  For,"  written  since 
1910,  was  hailed  as  the  play  of  the  hour.  In  his  work  are 
centred  all  the  external  problems  which  interest  our  younger 
dramatists.  "Bought  and  Paid  For"  exemplified  the  very 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  SINCE   1910          299 

faults  which  mark  the  American  dramatist.  It  created  one 
type  which  is  a  real  contribution,  and  let  the  rest  of  the 
drama  follow  the  line  of  least  resistance  —  the  line  of  theat 
rical  appeal.  The  mystery  is  that,  with  the  ability  to  create 
one  type  truly  excellent,  the  dramatist  should  fling  upon  the 
boards  other  characters  that  are  shallow  and  undeveloped. 
In  "Bought  and  Paid  For,"  Broadhurst  displayed  an  amount 
of  glitter  which  may  always  be  gained  by  having  a  poor  girl 
marry  a  fabulously  wealthy  man;  he  worked  his  material  up 
to  one  scene  of  revolt  where  the  drunken  husband  becomes  a 
beast  to  his  wife. 

All  of  this  is  external,  the  tinkling  cymbal  and  the  sounding 
brass.  It  is  easy  to  thrash  out  such  a  plot,  if  you  have  the 
technical  ability.  But  it  is  not  easy  to  create  such  a  charac 
ter  as  Jimmic,  the  clerk-brother-in-law,  who  is  consumingly 
satisfied  with  himself.  Were  the  other  characters  as  human, 
the  play  would  be  worthy  the  dramatic  success  it  had. 
Broadhurst,  thus  far,  has  only  shown  a  superficial  ability. 
When  he  wrote  "The  Man  of  the  Hour"  he  was  following 
in  the  channel  created  by  Klein's  "The  Lion  and  the  Mouse." 

You  cannot  cover  a  play  over  with  a  false  gloss  and  pass  it 
off  as  understanding.  Had  this  gloss  not  been  one  of  the 
essential  reasons  for  the  success  of  Louis  K.  Anspacher's 
"The  Unchastened  Woman,"  had  he  not  been  moved  pri 
marily  by  the  external  theatricalism  of  the  situation,  had  he 
not  placed  his  faith  in  the  false  sparkle  of  dramatic  effective 
ness,  he  would  have  written  a  very  big  play.  This  much, 
however,  can  be  said  for  "The  Unchastened  Woman":  that 
in  it  the  dramatist  accomplished  a  distinct  feat;  he  created 
a  character-study  in  his  heroine  worthy  of  Mrs.  Humphry 
Ward  or  Mrs.  Edith  Wharton,  and  he  developed  that  char 
acter  with  unerring  understanding  of  her  essential  weakness, 
keeping  her  development  consistent  to  the  end.  But  the  de 
fect  of  the  play,  seen  as  much  in  the  printed  script  as  in  the 


300  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

acting,  was  to  be  found  in  the  incomplete  social  fervor  in 
jected  into  it,  the  bad  taste  of  socialized  preachment.  These 
side-issues  distracted  the  attention  of  the  audience  away 
from  the  real  concern  of  the  play.  The  fact  is  Mr.  Anspacher 
wrote  a  drama  which,  through  the  dominant  character  of  its 
heroine,  excelled  Broadhurst's  "  Bought  and  Paid  For,"  but 
which  was  spoiled  for  further  claim  to  distinction  by  the  very 
defects  which  earned  its  Broadway  acceptance.  His  theme 
was  not  built  on  any  constructive  view  of  life. 

These  stereotyped  phases  are  what  have,  in  many  ways, 
handicapped  Bayard  Veiller,  for  so  long  a  while  regarded 
as  an  excellent  example  of  the  "disappointed  playwright." 
Then  came  the  phenomenal  success  of  his  play,  "  Within  the 
Law,"  a  splendid  example  of  the  newspaper  type,  theatrically 
effective  and  holding,  because  of  the  novelty  of  its  inventive 
ness  and  the  timeliness  of  its  police  and  gang  problem. 
While  its  success  was  disproportionate  to  its  literary  merit, 
yet  its  nearness  to  popular  interest  —  the  interest  in  the 
trials  of  a  New  York  policeman  —  was  its  one  claim  to  vital 
ity.  In  "The  Fight,"  another  of  Veiller's  plays,  he  was  far 
more  sincere,  far  more  logical.  The  American  dramatist 
oftentimes  does  not  solve  for  himself  the  problem  he  has  in 
hand;  he  more  than  likely  leads  his  play  into  moralless 
channels.  "Within  the  Law"  upholds  effectively  the  eva 
sion  of  the  law.  The  audience  is  blinded  into  lauding  such 
evasion,  because  of  the  stress  of  sympathy  for  the  characters. 

One  mentions  Veiller's  name  in  connection  with  the  class 
of  American  playwright  of  which  he  is  an  excellent  example. 
His  inventiveness  is  external;  he  is  clever  in  marshaling 
external  details.  His  latest  success,  "The  13th  Chair," 
travels  on  its  sheer  interest  as  a  bit  of  fiction;  the  characters 
are  mere  pegs  in  the  unraveling  of  a  plot  which  is  cleverly 
conceived  and  skilfully  put  together. 

The  unfortunate  circumstance  is  that  the  younger  Ameri- 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  SINCE   1910         301 

can  playwright  is  developing  in  an  atmosphere  of  external 
influences  rather  than  of  intellectual  stimulation.  He  has 
interpreted  the  stage  as  a  place  where  novelty  is  to  be  sold 
at  so  much  a  seat,  for  which  a  compensating  royalty  return 
is  to  be  expected.  He  has  witnessed  the  tremendous  inroads 
of  the  moving-picture  on  the  legitimate  theatre,  and  has 
tried,  in  some  respects,  to  keep  pace  with  the  rapid  movement 
of  the  celluloid  drama.  In  fact,  the  technique  of  the  moving- 
picture  has  come  in  to  divert  the  attention  of  the  younger 
dramatist  away  from  the  good  effects  which  his  reading  of 
literary  plays  was  having  on  his  mental  approach  toward  the 
theatre.  Have  we  not  heard  such  a  writer  of  popular  fiction 
as  Rex  Beach  assert  that  the  techniques  of  novel  writing 
and  of  the  short  story  were  being  materially  affected  by  the 
nervous  structure  of  the  mechanical  theatre?  Have  we  not 
already  seen  this  technique  making  inroads  on  the  theatre 
itself  in  such  a  popular  play  as  Elmer  Reizenstein's  "On 
Trial"  —  where  the  unities  of  time  and  place  are  relegated 
to  the  limbo  of  useless  things?  In  the  adoption  of  this  new 
technique,  Reizenstein  legitimately  made  use  of  something 
novel  and  external.  But  the  mere  mechanicalness  of  the 
structure  took  away  from  the  value  as  a  living  piece  of  work. 
Reizenstein  is  one  of  the  young  men  whose  interest  in  the 
theatre  has  come  from  no  self-conscious  approach  toward  it. 
Other  work  of  his,  not  yet  popularly  presented  before  the 
public,  has  shown  that  he  is  influenced  by  the  continental 
technique  and  has  hearkened  to  some  of  the  forceful  ideas 
underlying  the  changing  modern  drama.  He  cannot  be  esti 
mated  on  one  success. 

It  is  encouraging  to  see  how  unexpectedly  the  dramatic 
instinct  springs  up  in  different  directions.  But  we  still  have 
to  hold  to  our  statement  made  in  a  previous  chapter  that, 
very  largely,  the  American  dramatist's  training  has  been 
received  from  newspaper  work.  One  of  our  most  hopeful 


302  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

writers  of  the  younger  generation  is  A.  E.  Thomas,  author  of 
"Her  Husband's  Wife"  and  "The  Rainbow."  His  career  is 
truly  representative  of  the  career  of  many  of  the  younger 
men  of  the  theatre.  He  was  a  student  at  Brown  University. 
From  college  he  went  to  New  York,  where  for  two  years  he 
served  as  a  dramatic  critic  on  The  Sun,  following  Walter  P. 
Eaton.  There  he  had  ample  opportunity  to  observe  how 
plays  should  not  be  written.  But  very  wisely  he  slipped  out 
of  the  job  just  as  soon  as  he  began  to  practise  what  he 
preached  as  a  critic.  Many  of  his  plays  have  freshness  of 
character  and  are  full  of  wholesome  sentiment.  Sometimes 
that  sentiment  becomes  over-proportioned,  as  in  "  Come  Out 
of  the  Kitchen, "  based  on  a  novel  of  sentimental  character. 

In  the  instance  of  A.  E.  Thomas  we  may  ask  whether,  at 
the  present  time,  it  would  even  be  wise  to  attempt  to  fix  his 
position  in  the  development.  He  is  a  man  of  the  theatre,  and 
a  man  of  the  theatre  is  fortunate  if,  after  long  service,  he  can 
escape  into  the  rare  atmosphere  of  the  dramatist.  One  can 
only  say  that  he  is  the  author  of  a  play,  "Her  Husband's 
Wife,"  which,  to  quote  Mr.  Eaton's  words  regarding  it, 
"was  written  solely  to  be  acted,  with  no  thought  of  the 
printed  page  in  mind."  The  conclusion  that  it  has  survived 
because  it  is  a  good  play  is  sufficient  reason  for  anyone.  We 
can  only  take  the  play  on  its  individual  merit,  and  let  the 
full  credit  go  until  the  time  for  final  estimate. 

The  constant  frequenter  of  the  theatre  sees  many  hopeful 
signs  for  the  American  playwright  of  the  future  —  signs 
which  in  some  instances  are  fully  realized,  and  in  other  in 
stances  fade  entirely  away  after  one  success.  "  Years  of  Dis 
cretion,"  by  Frederic  Hatton,  a  Chicago  dramatic  critic,  in 
collaboration  with  his  wife,  contained  many  elements  worthy 
of  the  American  theatre.  So  did  Alice  Bradley's  "  The  Gov 
ernor's  Lady,"  Richard  Walton  Tully's  "The  Bird  of  Para 
dise,"  and  Clare  Kummer's  "A  Successful  Calamity." 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  SINCE   1910         303 

A  drama  that  can  boast  of  Winchell  Smith's  "  The  Fortune 
Hunter,"  or  "The  Boomerang,"  or  "Turn  to  the  Right";  a 
drama  that  can  produce  such  types  of  farce  as  August  in 
McHugh's  "Officer  666,"  or  Roi  Megrue's  "It  Pays  to  Ad 
vertise";  a  drama  that  can  show  elements  of  dexterity  and 
worthiness  like  those  in  Edward  Childs  Carpenter's  "The 
Cinderella  Man"  and  Paul  Dickey's  "The  Misleading 
Lady";  a  drama  of  this  calibre  is  not  lacking  in  potential 
vigor  or  strength.  One  can  turn  to  James  Forbes's  "The 
Chorus  Lady"  and  say  that,  as  a  reflection  of  a  particular 
atmosphere,  it  is  an  excellently  done  piece  of  theatrical 
work;  but  there  is  in  it  not  even  that  vivid  inner  emotional 
ism  which  the  French  use  to  such  advantage  in  "Zaza." 
One  can  turn  to  William  De  Mille's  "  The  Woman,"  and  in 
comparison  with  his  earlier  workmanship,  shown  in  "  Strong- 
heart"  and  "The  Warrens  of  Virginia,"  conclude  that  his 
cleverness  might  be  pledged  to  sounder  work.  De  Mille  is 
not  as  definitely  connected  with  the  dramatic  movement  of 
the  present,  as  his  father,  Henry  De  Mille,  was  with  the 
dramatic  movement  of  the  past,  when,  in  collaboration  with 
David  Belasco,  he  wrote  such  domestic  pieces  as  "The  Wife" 
and  "The  Charity  Ball." 

One  might  say  that  a  writer  on  the  theatre  is  justified  in 
devoting  a  close  study  to  the  plays  by  Hartley  Manners  — 
such  plays,  for  example,  as  "  The  House  Next  Door,"  which 
showed  excellent  scope  in  characterization,  and  as  "Peg  o' 
My  Heart,"  whose  sentiment  was  inspiration  for  many  plays 
of  a  similar  kind.  But  though  Manners  is  one  whose  ap 
proach  toward  the  theatre  is  always  sincere  and  earnest,  he 
is  not  yet  convinced  of  his  real  purpose  as  a  dramatist.  He 
is  another  example  of  a  valuable  potentiality  in  the  theatre, 
waiting  for  some  tremendous  power  of  spiritual  and  intel 
lectual  conviction  to  move  him  to  the  adoption  of  some  point 
of  view  which  will  stamp  him  in  all  his  plays. 


304  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

The  dramatists  themselves  cannot  be  blamed  for  this 
casual  manner  of  using  dramatic  technique.  One  must  blame 
the  drama  spirit  of  the  time  in  America  preceding  the  Great 
War. 

When  we  come  to  consider  the  new  forces  in  the  playhouse 
which  are  resulting  in  the  establishment  of  Little  Theatres,  we 
shall  see  wherein  the  dramatist  will  be  able  to  find  his  intel 
lectual  and  spiritual  level.  Certain  it  is  that,  since  1910,  more 
writers  with  a  literary  sense  than  ever  before  have  turned  to 
the  theatre,  not  as  a  means  of  profit  but  as  a  medium  in  which 
to  work  seriously.  Winthrop  Ames's  $10,000  prize,  offered 
some  years  ago,  was  awarded  to  Alice  Brown  for  her  "Chil 
dren  of  Earth,"  a  drama  which,  even  though  it  may  not  have 
been  perfect  in  workmanship  or  consistent  in  development,  at 
least  showed  the  effect  a  definite  atmosphere  may  have  on 
playwriting.  The  New  England  spirit  in  "Children  of 
Earth"  was  much  more  deeply  ingrained  than  the  New  Eng 
land  spirit  which  William  Vaughn  Moody  tried  to  suggest 
in  "The  Great  Divide." 

We  find  the  literary  man  approaching  the  theatre  with 
strong  desire  to  introduce  therein  certain  new  elements. 
Though  he  may  not  have  been  as  successful  as  Maurice 
Maeterlinck  in  the  creation  of  psychological  effects,  never 
theless,  Theodore  Dreiser's  application  of  spiritual  and 
psychological  states  of  mind  to  local  condition  in  his  volume 
of  "Plays  of  the  Natural  and  Supernatural,"  is  an  encourag 
ing  sign  of  originality. 

I  emphasize  the  activity  in  this  cursory  manner  because  it 
is  the  only  way  of  reaching  a  fair  estimate  of  the  vitality  of 
the  dramatic  soil  in  America.  These  men  and  women  writing 
occasional  comedies  and  occasional  farces  need  not  neces 
sarily  be  considered  on  their  individual  merit.  To  obtain 
any  hope  out  of  the  activity  which  crops  up  in  the  most  un 
expected  quarters,  we  must  take  the  result  and  note  the 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  SINCE   1910         305 

tendency.  The  product  is  not  stagnant,  as  some  critics  seem 
to  think;  it  is  simply  scattered  and  lacking  in  direction. 
George  Ade  contributed  something  to  the  movement  in 
American  drama,  something  as  distinctly  national  as  Mark 
Twain,  though  not  as  dominantly  so.  He  appears  within 
recent  times  to  have  dropped  out  of  the  running,  leaving  the 
field  to  George  Cohan,  whose  plays  are  farcical,  ironical, 
redolent  with  types,  and  kinetoscopical. 

Having  thus  given  some  idea  of  the  advance  of  the  Ameri 
can  drama  since  1910  —  that  is,  the  American  drama  as  re 
flected  on  the  stage  —  it  has  been  saved  for  the  last  to  point 
out  the  high-water  mark  of  execution.  So  far  the  hopeful 
signs  have  been  indicated.  Were  one  asked  to  mention  the 
significant  dramas  written  within  recent  years,  one  would 
naturally  put  in  the  first  group  William  Vaughn  Moody's 
"The  Great  Divide"  and  Eugene  Walter's  "The  Easiest 
Way."  In  the  second  group  one  might  be  justified  in  placing 
Augustus  Thomas's  "The  Witching  Hour"  and  "As  a  Man 
Thinks,"  with  Clyde  Fitch's  "The  City." 

In  the  third  group,  one  places  quite  alone,  as  an  example 
of  imaginative  value,  Benrimo  and  Hazleton's  "The  Yellow 
Jacket."  This  play  deserves  special  comment,  for  it  is  one 
of  the  rarest  American  examples  of  creative  and  poetic  drama. 
Since  its  first  production  on  November  4,  1912,  it  has  had 
an  interesting  and  precarious  existence.  For  "The  Yellow 
Jacket,"  when  it  was  first  given  to  the  jaded  tastes  of  Broad 
way,  was  caviare  to  the  many  who  were  puzzled  by  the 
conventions  of  the  Chinese  stage  as  utilized  by  these  two 
authors.  The  public  could  not  reconcile  the  curious  manner 
with  the  beautiful  poetry  of  the  lines.  "The  Yellow  Jacket" 
was  talked  into  success,  and  to-day  it  stands  as  a  very  dis 
tinctive  example  of  imaginative  work.  Chinese  theatrical 
eccentricity  is  cleverly  manipulated  with  exquisite  precision, 
and  in  no  way  do  the  external  color  and  picturesqueness  de- 


306  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

tract  from  the  complete  understanding  of  the  human  and 
poetic  qualities  of  the  story.  In  "The  Yellow  Jacket"  one 
begins  to  understand  how  quickening  an  imaginative  drama 
is  to  the  imagination  of  an  audience;  one  appreciates  the 
vitality  of  the  Elizabethan  audience  which  could  imagine  all 
the  scenic  possibilities  of  Shakespearian  plays  better  without 
having  to  clutter  the  stage  with  externals.  As  the  authors 
declare  in  their  foreword  to  the  printed  play,  "It  might  be 
said  in  a  Chinese  way  that  scenery  is  as  big  as  your  imagina 
tion."  So  we  might  add  that  the  beauties  of  "The  Yellow 
Jacket"  are  apparent  only  to  those  whose  imagination  is  as 
big  as  the  beautiful  scene  conceived  by  the  authors. 

Since  writing  "  The  Yellow  Jacket,"  Hazleton  has  not  been 
heard  from.  He  has  contented  himself  with  the  reputation 
gained  from  that  play  in  countries  abroad  as  well  as  through 
out  the  United  States.  Benrimo,  an  actor  with  experience 
acquired  under  Belasco,  has  only  recently  produced  another 
play,  Japanese  in  tone  and  in  legend,  entitled  "The  Willow 
Tree."  It  is  devoid  of  the  poetry  of  "The  Yellow  Jacket," 
devoid  of  the  deeper  human  reflections,  and  self-conscious 
in  its  theatrical  novelty.  It  is  as  though  Benrimo,  having 
had  one  success,  had  said  to  himself,  "Go  to,  —  I  will  write 
another  play  as  novel  as  'The  Yellow  Jacket/  and  one  as 
appealing  in  its  color  as  '  Madame  Butterfly/  by  Belasco  and 
Long."  But  this  he  has  not  succeeded  in  doing. 

We  were  encouraged  further  in  the  direction  of  imagina 
tive  drama  by  the  presentation  of  Eleanor  Gates's  "The 
Poor  Little  Rich  Girl."  It  succeeded  because  of  the  novelty 
of  its  theme  and  the  skilfulness  of  its  commingling  of  con 
scious  with  unconscious  elements.  Through  the  sheer  force 
of  its  imaginative  appeal  it  overtowered  the  defects  of  its 
construction  —  defects  which  the  dramatist  did  not  attempt 
to  obliterate  in  the  next  play  she  wrote. 
'  "The  Yellow  Jacket"  and  "The  Poor  Little  Rich  Girl" 


AMERICAN  DRAMA  SINCE  1910         307 

indicate  that  there  is  in  America  an  ability  to  create  some 
thing  which  is  not  purely  realistic;  to  make  use  of  the  poetical 
in  such  way  as  to  counteract  the  undramatic.  Even  Percy 
Mackaye  has,  in  later  years,  shown  that  Pegasus  can  be 
put  into  the  harness  of  theatrical  restrictions.  His  play, 
"A  Thousand  Years  Ago/'  came  much  nearer  the  require 
ments  of  the  stage  than  many  of  his  more  ambitious  plays 
of  earlier  years.  Mackaye,  since  1910,  has  learned  better 
the  laws  of  dramaturgy.  His  self-conscious  study  of  form 
has  brought  his  methods  of  thinking  within  bounds.  We 
find  him  zealously  and  earnestly  studying  the  true  propor 
tions  of  the  pageant  and  of  the  masque.  We  find  him  manip 
ulating  skilfully  his  old  play,  "The  Canterbury  Pilgrims," 
and  turning  it  into  a  libretto  which  is  a  relief  from  the  con 
ventional,  stilted,  mechanical  librettos  of  the  past. 

Every  great  success  of  our  current  stage  means  that  the 
dramatist  who  has  thus  passed  across  the  footlights  into 
public  favor  has  in  addition  made  for  himself  a  comfortable 
income.  But  the  art  of  play-writing  takes  time  to  mature. 
A  play  is  not  a  mere  matter  of  haste  and  slap-dash.  The 
wonder  is,  therefore,  that  these  men  and  women  of  one  suc 
cess,  who  can  afford  thereafter  to  move  slowly,  are  not  more 
exact,  more  careful  in  what  they  do. 

Giving  the  people  what  they  want  does  not  necessarily 
mean  that  one  is  free  to  give  along  the  lines  of  least  resist 
ance.  By  all  means  let  the  dramatist  think  of  the  theatre 
first,  and  the  theatre  of  his  own  time.  Let  him  follow  the 
newspaper.  Let  him  go  to  the  four  corners  of  the  globe  for 
material,  if  he  wants  to.  The  only  condition  shall  be  that 
when  he  puts  pen  to  paper,  he  shall  have  made  clear  to  him 
self  the  thing  he  has  to  say. 

What  our  theatre  needs  to-day  is  not  drama  slavishly  de 
pendent  on  models  reaching  us  from  abroad;  we  need  re 
cruits  in  the  theatre  who  can  do  plain  thinking  and  high 


308  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

thinking ;  who  are  logical  and  convincing.  Out  of  such  quali 
ties  will  a  great  American  drama  come,  and  there  are  evi 
dences  that  it  is  coming.  I  do  not  want  the  literary  man 
without  a  knowledge  of  the  peculiar  demands  of  the  theatre 
to  monopolize  the  playhouse.  Henry  James,  William  Dean 
Howells,  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  never  wrote  successful 
plays,  because  they  would  never  recognize  the  technique  of 
the  drama  as  different  from  and  more  difficult  than  the  tech 
nique  of  the  novel. 

There  has  never  been  a  time  when  the  dramatic  impulse 
in  the  country  was  so  wide-spread.  Out  of  it  there  should 
come  something  more  permanent  than  there  has  come  al 
ready.  Among  the  younger  generation  of  writers  there  are 
ample  signs  of  potential  strength.  But  they  are  dramatists 
of  one  success.  Truly  should  it  be  said  that  by  their  works 
rather  than  by  their  one  work  shall  they  be  fully  judged.1 

1  A  short  list  of  recent  American  dramas  is  to  be  found  on  pages 
393,  394. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   CRAZE   FOR   LITTLE  THEATRES 

THE  craze  for  Little  Theatres,  which  has  developed  to  such 
extensive  proportions  throughout  this  country  in  the  last 
few  years,  is  a  queer  mixture  of  the  unthinking  amateur 
spirit,  with  a  true,  sincere  spirit  of  revolt  against  art  com 
mercialized.  Whether  or  not  the  experiments  being  made  by 
so  many  ambitious  and  independent  groups  of  young  artistic 
people  will  ever  result  in  any  appreciable  effect  on  the  real 
theatrical  situation  will  depend,  very  largely,  upon  how  far 
the  spirit  of  revolt  in  the  future  is  nurtured  independently  of 
the  amateur. 

There  are  seventy  or  eighty  independent  and  distinctive 
little  art  centres  in  the  United  States,  all  working  definitely 
for  the  improvement  of  the  drama,  for  the  betterment  of  the 
dramatists,  and  in  the  interest  of  a  public  demanding  higher 
forms  of  entertainment.  These  centres  are  sign-posts  of  the 
restlessness  of  the  theatre-going  public.  They  are  sign-posts 
of  the  self-conscious  attack  being  made  on  old-time  methods 
of  art  exploitation.  Their  significance  is  being  discussed  in 
open  convention  and  in  magazine  articles.  Their  policies 
are  being  criticized  and  lauded  in  the  newspapers  of  the  day. 
Their  common  characteristics  have  been  unified  and  discussed 
in  books  on  the  theatre,  —  with  the  result  that  the  move 
ment  is  now  widely  recognized  as  a  force  likely  to  change  the 
dramatic  product  of  the  future. 

The  wide  geographical  distribution  of  Little  Theatres  — 


310  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

from  coast  to  coast  in  fact  —  indicates  that  there  is  a  mass  of 
art  feeling  in  this  country  which,  for  want  of  a  well-stated 
and  clearly  understood  philosophy  of  art,  is  gaining  satisfac 
tion  by  imitating  the  work  accomplished  in  the  foreign  theatre 
before  the  outbreak  of  the  present  war  (1917).  What  will 
follow  the  revolt,  as  carried  on  in  the  Little  Theatre  groups, 
will  depend  in  the  future  on  how  soon  the  real  leaders  in  the 
revolt  strike  out  along  paths  of  native  originality.  An  art 
movement  that  is  merely  imitative,  that  is  merely  receptive 
of  ideas  formulated  and  executed  elsewhere,  that  is  not  cog 
nizant  of  its  own  environment,  is  likely  to  fall  into  the  slough 
of  borrowed  and  ill-digested  ideals,  and  to  assume  lightly 
a  morality  which  does  not  apply  imminently  to  its  own 
existence. 

We  hear  a  great  deal  about  Little  Theatres.  A  whole 
book  has  been  written  on  the  subject  by  Constance  D'Arcy 
Mackay.  We  hear  a  great  deal  about  "Community  Thea 
tres"  in  this  country.  But  when  we  approach  the  communal 
idea,  we  must  realize  that  it  applies  not  only  to  Little  Theatres, 
but  is  the  underlying  factor  in  pageantry,  masques,  and  out 
door  performances  given  in  Greek  Theatres  and  forest  groves. 
Percy  Mackaye  has  written  an  exhaustive  treatise  on  the 
subject  in  a  book  entitled  "The  Civic  Theatre."  Mackaye 
has  much  to  justify  his  hope  for  a  Civic  Theatre.  Pageants 
are  multiplying,  universities  are  showing  wider  interests  in 
the  play,  audiences  are  organizing  into  Drama  Leagues 
and  Stage  Societies,  and  educators  are  using  the  pageant  and 
dance  as  essential  elements  in  the  training  of  youth.  Mr. 
Mackaye's  civic  idea  is  of  even  broader  and  more  far-reaching 
effect  than  the  idea  of  the  Community  Theatre,  though  they 
both  take  their  root  of  being  in  the  will  of  the  people.  The 
Civic  Theatre  Movement  is  democratic.  So  is  the  Little 
Theatre  Movement,  though  not  as  sweeping  in  its  application. 

WThen  we  examine  the  repertories  of  the  Little  Theatres, 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         311 

in  the  hope  of  discovering  something  in  them  bearing  directly 
on  the  community,  we  most  likely  find  Schnitzler's  "  Anatole" 
gasping  for  life  in  the  arid  bad-lands  of  Arizona!  We  can 
expect  little  impress  from  such  misplaced  enthusiasm.  There 
is  much  incongruity  in  the  selection  of  repertories  for  the 
theatres  of  isolated  communities.  When  attention  is  called 
to  such  incongruity,  these  ambitious  groups  of  art  revolu 
tionists  give  no  heed;  they  lose  sight  of  their  raison  d'etre 
in  a  wild,  conceited  defiance  of  the  well-tried  economic  law 
of  supply  and  demand  —  a  law  which  governs  art  as  well  as 
commerce. 

Never  yet  has  a  Director  of  one  of  these  Little  Theatres 
failed,  when  asked  to  justify  the  existence  of  the  Little 
Theatre,  to  discuss  very  volubly  the  underlying  impulse 
which  governed  the  Abbey  Theatre  and  the  Manchester 
Theatre,  and  which  resulted  in  the  creation  of  native  schools 
of  drama  in  England  and  in  Ireland.  But  one  soon  finds  that 
these  Directors  have  given  scant  thought  to  the  social  condi 
tions  which  created  such  art  centres  in  Great  Britain.  Their 
effectiveness  was  due,  very  largely,  to  the  fact  that  they  en 
couraged  native  playwrights  who  were  endowed  with  common 
tradition,  with  sympathetic  national  vision,  and  with  an 
individual  dramatic  gift,  together  with  a  literary  sense  of  the 
fitness  of  things. 

At  the  time  of  the  establishment  of  the  Irish  National 
Dramatic  Society,  W.  B.  Yeats  was  asked  to  state  the  object 
of  the  movement,  and  he  did  so  in  these  words : 

"Our  movement  is  a  return  to  the  people  .  .  .  and  the 
drama  of  society  would  but  magnify  a  condition  of  life  which 
the  countryman  and  the  artisan  could  but  copy  to  their  hurt. 
The  play  that  is  to  give  them  a  quite  natural  pleasure  should 
either  tell  them  of  their  own  life,  or  of  that  life  of  poetry 
where  every  man  can  see  his  own  image,  because  there  alone 
does  human  nature  escape  from  arbitrary  conditions.  Plays 


312  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

about  drawing-rooms  are  written  for  the  middle  classes  of 
great  cities,  for  the  classes  who  live  in  drawing-rooms,  but  if 
you  would  uplift  the  man  of  the  roads  you  must  write  about 
the  roads,  or  about  the  people  of  romance,  or  about  great  his 
torical  people." 

This  statement  by  Yeats  may  not  be  the  whole  truth  under 
lying  the  history  of  the  Irish  Theatre,  but  it  does  measure 
some  of  the  community  fervor  and  spirit  prompting  the  Irish 
dramatists.  When  these  writers,  under  the  inspiration  of 
Yeats  and  Miss  Horniman,  discovered  themselves,  it  was 
not  in  any  laboratory  the  self-revelation  was  made,  even 
though  most  of  them  approached  their  work  with  the  definite 
idea  that  they  would  do  for  their  own  land  what  Ibsen  had 
done  for  the  Scandinavian  countries.  They  instinctively 
felt  pledged  to  a  reflection  of  the  life  they  knew  well,  in  plays 
which  were  to  appeal  through  character,  problem,  tragedy, 
and  humor  to  those  who  knew  that  life. 

Of  course  one  does  not  care  to  emphasize  too  insistently 
the  community  idea  as  it  applies  to  dramatic  writing,  for 
fear  of  its  narrowing  the  general  appeal  of  the  playwright. 
Many  dramas  in  the  Irish  repertory,  notably  those  by  S.  L. 
Robinson  and  T.  C.  Murray,  were  so  local  as  to  be  hardly 
understood  outside  their  own  environment.  Miss  Baker's 
"Chains,"  produced  in  New  York,  was  brought  to  ruin  in  a 
frantic  effort  to  adapt  its  English  condition  to  American 
understanding.  J.  O.  Francis's  "Change,"  despite  its  in 
tellectual  appeal  of  syndicalism,  was  too  Welsh,  too  non 
conformist;  Granville  Barker's  "Waste"  was  too  English  in 
its  politics;  Githa  Sowerby's  "Rutherford  and  Sons"  and 
Stanley  Houghton's  "Hindle  Wakes"  were  too  middle-class 
in  their  morality  for  American  comprehension. 

Yet  these  plays  were  born  of  the  direct  spirit  which  prompts 
the  community  idea  in  the  Little  Theatres  to-day.  They  were 
given  in  the  most  adequate  and  least  expensive  manner, 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         313 

pointing  to  a  tendency,  which  is  rapidly  gaining  headway  in 
the  theatre,  to  present  the  very  best  the  drama  affords  in  the 
most  inexpensive  manner.  We  wonder  if  there  will  arrive  a 
time  when  a  Wisconsin  or  a  Michigan  or  a  California  play 
wright  will,  under  the  inspiration  of  the  community  idea, 
write  plays  so  aloof  from  the  life  of  Boston,  New  York,  and 
Philadelphia,  as  to  be  scarcely  understood  by  the  cosmo 
politan  audiences  of  those  cities.  We  do  not  think  that  such 
will  be  the  case. 

But  we  do  see  a  hope  that,  in  the  establishment  of  Little 
Theatres,  groups  of  playwrights  will  spring  up  throughout 
the  country,  pledged,  as  the  Irish  Players  were  pledged,  to  a 
reflection  of  the  problems  and  ideals  of  the  immediate  com 
munity.  This  country  is  large  enough  and  diversified  enough, 
geographically  and  temperamentally,  to  foster  such  a  variety. 
Already  such  groups  have  come  to  the  front,  conscious  of 
working  for  a  common  cause.  While  we  cannot  point,  with 
any  too  much  pride,  to  the  native  plays  produced  by  the 
Washington  Square  writers,  none  the  less  have  they  developed 
out  of  a  spirit  of  artistic  cooperation,  and  they  have  issued  a 
volume  which  is  measure  of  the  type  of  work  done  by  them. 
In  his  preface,  the  Director,  Edward  Goodman,  has  this  to 
say :  "  So  far  we  have  produced  thirty-two  plays,  of  one-act 
and  greater  length,  and  of  these  twenty  have  been  American. 
The  emphasis  of  our  interest  has  been  placed  on  the  American 
playwright,  because  we  feel  that  no  American  theatre  can 
be  really  successful  unless  it  develops  a  native  drama  to  present 
and  interpret  those  emotions,  ideas,  characters,  and  condi 
tions  with  which  we,  as  Americans,  are  primarily  concerned. 
Of  these  twenty  American  plays  the  Drama  League  has 
selected  four  for  this  volume  of  its  series.  Excluding  comment 
on  my  farce  ...  I  think  it  may  be  said  that  these  repre 
sent  a  fair  example  of  the  success  the  Players  have  met  with 
in  trying  to  encourage  the  writing  of  American  plays  with 


314  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

'freshness  and  sincerity  of  theme  and  development;  skil 
ful  delineation  of  character;  non-didactic  presentation  of 
an  idea;  and  dramatic  and  esthetic  effectiveness  without 
theatricalism.'" 

This,  therefore,  is  the  commendable  purpose  of  the  dram 
atists  of  the  Washington  Square  school.  But  one  cannot 
quite  discover  the  dominant  Americanism  in  what  they  have 
thus  far  done,  nor  in  the  plays  that  have  been  published. 

The  Wisconsin  book  of  plays,  issued  under  the  encourage 
ment  of  Professor  Thomas  H.  Dickinson,  illustrates  that, 
without  any  propaganda  effort,  a  few  playwrights  can  pro 
duce  something  of  community  value.  This  intent  is  shown 
in  Dickinson's  foreword,  wherein  he  writes :  "  The  majority  of 
the  plays  in  the  series  belong  to  the  repertory  of  the  Society 
[Wisconsin  Dramatic  Society],  and  have  been  presented  in 
regular  performances  in  Madison  and  Milwaukee,  and  on 
tour  in  other  places  in  the  Middle  West.  The  authors  of  these 
plays  disclaim  any  desire  whatever  to  inaugurate  a  new  order 
of  play-writing.  Their  chief  purpose,  aside  from  the  personal 
motive  that  impels  every  work  of  art,  has  been  to  provide  for 
the  section  in  which  they  live  the  impulse  of  the  practise  of  an 
art  as  a  corrective  of  standards,  as  distinguished  from  the 
principle  of  a  referendum  of  standards  to  the  people." 

This  would  appear  to  be  much  nearer  the  idea  prompting 
the  Irish  National  Theatre  and  the  Manchester  Theatre 
than  the  efforts  of  the  Washington  Square  Players  as  ex 
pressed  by  their  Director. 

In  a  similar  spirit  the  Provincetown  Players  banded  them 
selves  together,  cast  in  a  mould  which  distinguishes  them  from 
the  other  groups  working  along  the  same  line  of  revolt.  "  The 
present  organization,"  so  the  prospectus  runs,  "  is  the  outcome 
of  a  group  of  people  interested  in  the  theatre,  who  gathered 
spontaneously,  during  two  summers,  at  Provincetown,  Mass., 
for  the  purpose  of  writing,  producing  and  acting  their  own 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         315 

plays/'  For  a  statement  of  intention,  this  comment  is  un 
satisfactory  and  ill-digested,  nor  do  the  plays  issued  by  them 
in  any  way  show  that  their  dissatisfaction  over  the  theatre 
has  resulted  in  anything  with  which  they  might  be  justly 
satisfied. 

Unfortunately,  our  present  art  restlessness  in  this  country 
has  been  brought  about  by  an  external  irritation.  The 
English  revolt  against  the  theatre,  at  its  very  outset,  began 
in  pregnant  times  —  the  significant  Nineties  of  the  last 
century.  This  revolt  had  the  advantage  of  a  tradition  im 
mediately  back  of  it,  represented  by  William  Morris  and  John 
Ruskin.  It  gained  its  greatest  strength  in  the  well-founded 
principles  of  Fabian  socialism.  In  this  atmosphere,  the 
younger  men,  who  afterwards  became  England's  "new" 
dramatists,  among  whom  Shaw  was  the  dominant  personality, 
were  taught  to  think  sanely  about  social  conditions  and,  what 
is  more  significant,  to  think  logically.  The  advance  movement 
in  England  was  fostered  by  J.  T.  Grein's  Independent  Thea 
tre,  the  Stage  Society,  Granville  Barker's  Court  Theatre, 
and,  finally,  Charles  Frohman's  Repertory  Theatre. 

The  revolt  against  the  existing  theatrical  condition  in 
London  came  also  from  an  immediate  necessity:  the  neces 
sity  of  saving  from  annihilation  independence  of  thought  in 
England.  The  pressure  of  Censorship  tended  to  deny 
Englishmen  the  right  to  accept  continental  ideas,  or  to  think 
freely  on  moral  questions.  The  art  lovers  of  England  learned 
their  lesson  from  the  Theatre  Libre,  in  Paris,  and  from  the 
Freie  Biihne,  in  Berlin.  They  read  Ibsen,  and  from  him 
learned,  as  America  did  later,  the  value  of  the  printed  play. 
In  their  talk  they  discussed  freely  the  then  "new"  social 
propaganda  which  now  seems  to  be  so  self-evident  that  Ibsen, 
in  many  ways,  has  grown  old-fashioned.  From  this  condition 
came  the  present  realistic  and  literary  English  drama. 

In  like  fashion  are  there  forces  at  work  to-day  —  forces 


316  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

governing  the  theatre,  the  dramatist,  and  audiences;  forces 
which  point  to  a  rehabilitation  of  the  poetic  drama  in  rela 
tion  to  the  higher  fervor  of  man.  Such  dramas  are  being 
aided  and  abetted  by  scenery  which  suggests  broad  sweeps  of 
emotion,  instead  of  aiming  at  a  literal  realism  competing  with 
the  real  thing.  In  other  words,  the  new  forces,  to-day,  are 
pointing  to  a  spiritual  drama. 

America  has  had  no  such  intellectual  training  for  the  art 
revolt.  In  the  theatre,  we  have  been  naively  imitative,  and 
even  now,  in  a  transition  period,  we  are  groping  for  something 
which  does  not  appear  distinctly  to  our  imaginations.  The 
Little  Theatre  Movement  is  in  a  tumult  of  experimentation. 
Its  expression  is  crude  and  intellectually  undisciplined.  It 
has  not  yet  done  what  a  real  spirit  of  revolt  in  art  should  do. 
It  courts  suspicion  because  of  its  touch  of  dilettantism.  In 
its  youthful  defiance,  it  sometimes  lets  slip  the  idea  of  the 
theatre  as  a  dignified  social  institution.  It  has,  on  the  one 
hand,  over-emphasized  the  importance  of  the  word  "Little," 
making  a  fetish  of  the  physical  playhouse,  rather  than  em 
phasizing  the  spiritual  content  of  the  play ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  has  failed  to  make  room  in  its  scheme  for  the  very 
community  about  which  it  is  forever  speaking. 

As  a  Director  of  one  of  the  Little  Theatres  has  written: 
"  While  theoretically  the  aims  and  ideals  and  purposes  of  the 
Little  Theatre  are  decidedly  worth  while,  unfortunately  the 
whole  movement  has  received  something  of  a  black  eye, 
from  the  fact  that  the  practitioners  of  this  so-called  art  of 
the  little  theatre  have  been  either  faddists  or  people  utterly 
ignorant  of  the  rudiments  of  production.  It  seems  to  me  too 
bad  that  the  word  l  theatre/  frightfully  overworked,  should 
have  to  bear  the  burden  of  so  many  sins.  There  was  a  time 
when  one  had  a  fairly  adequate  idea  of  what  one  would  see 
in  a  theatre.  But,  to-day,  the  word  '  theatre '  has  to  cover 
every  kind  of  performance,  from  a  moving-picture  to  a  mono- 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         317 

logue.  I  wonder  what  will  become  of  the  Little  Theatre. 
I  feel  certain  that  unless  it  does  establish  some  definite  con 
tact  with  community  life,  it  is  doomed.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  believe  that  it  is  conceivable  that  the  Little  Theatre, 
sanely  handled  and  intellectually  directed,  might  be  the  seed 
from  which  a  real  community  theatre  might  spring." 

Thus  far  the  Little  Theatre  Movement  has  failed  to  gain 
the  full  confidence  of  the  public.  If  it  has  not  impressed  the 
commercial  manager,  the  excuse  might  be  that  the  manager  is 
impervious  to  new  ideas.  But  the  Little  Theatres  have  failed 
to  justify  themselves,  chiefly  because  they  have  not  earned  a 
living  from  the  community  in  which  they  exist;  so  many  of 
them  end  each  year  with  a  deficit.  The  commercial  manager 
has  been  spurred  by  this  new  art  movement  into  accepting, 
occasionally,  a  play  of  real  literary  worth;  almost  invariably 
such  a  play  has  spelled  loss  to  him.  This  loss  may  be  at 
tributed  to  the  fact  that  some  of  the  plays  presented,  like 
"Rutherford  and  Sons,"  "Change"  and  "Prunella,"  are 
"repertory"  plays,  rather  than  "long  run"  plays.  But  the 
manager  may  often  rightly  claim  that  his  "highbrow"  play 
was  not  even  supported  by  the  small  group  of  "intellectuals" 
or  "esthetes"  to  whom  the  Little  Theatres  are,  in  a  way, 
pledged  to  cater,  and  who  are  themselves  pledged  to  support 
the  "Movement." 

While  it  is  true  that  the  Little  Theatres  have  been  estab* 
lished  with  an  idea  that  economically  they  should  not  com 
pete  with  the  commercial  theatre,  the  very  casualness  of  their 
existence  makes  them  indifferent  to  the  necessity  of  being 
self -supporting;  though  they  aim  to  satisfy  the  intellectual 
part  of  their  clientele,  they  often  hang  as  a  dead-weight  around 
the  neck  of  the  community,  and,  without  the  consuming  desire 
of  justifying  their  existence,  try  to  satisfy  their  own  limited 
tastes. 

So  far  the  Little  Theatres  throughout  the  country  have 


318  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

failed  to  produce  any  great  playwrights,  any  original  direc 
tors;  and  they  have  been  indifferent  to  the  working  out  of 
any  set  body  of  ideas.  They  seem  to  have  gained  nothing  of 
permanent  constructive  value  from  their  experience.  But  it 
may  be  that,  from  an  irresponsible  turning  of  the  spade,  by 
the  loosening  of  the  rocky  elements  of  commercialism  in  an 
untilled  dramatic  soil  yet  to  be  tested  for  its  richness,  some 
good  will  result.  At  least,  it  is  better  to  work,  however  un 
wittingly,  against  a  commercialism  in  the  theatre  which  is 
deadening,  than  to  remain  satisfied  with  a  theatre  dominated 
by  the  "  Broadway  idea." 

It  is  well  to  approach  the  subject  of  Little  Theatres  nega 
tively,  if  we  would  gain  a  true  perspective  regarding  the 
positive  results  of  individual  examples.  It  cannot  be  denied 
that  the  groups  of  people  interested  in  the  theatre  who  have 
banded  themselves  into  artistic  communities  are  significant 
in  themselves.  But,  after  extended  investigation,  one  must 
deplore  the  fact  that  these  groups  are  reproducing  themselves 
in  unthinking  rapidity,  without  fully  knowing  what  is  the 
necessity  which  creates  the  Little  Theatre  Movement  in 
general.  These  independent  art  movements  represent  a 
protest;  wherever  a  revolt  springs  up  in  small  communities, 
its  presence  measures  the  discontent  of  a  particular  group 
with  the  character  of  the  amusement  supplied  through  the 
regular  commercial  theatrical  channels.  If  these  fast  mul 
tiplying  centres  organize  themselves  in  a  way  to  become  a 
menace  to  the  local  theatres,  then  the  commercial  syndicate 
will  be  bound,  sooner  or  later,  to  realize  that  in  the  Little 
Theatre  Movement  lies  its  future  undoing. 

It  was  out  of  the  discontent  created  by  the  Theatrical 
Trust  that  the  first  signs  of  artistic  revolt  in  America  took 
place.  The  Independent  Theatre  Company,  in  the  early  Nine 
ties,  gave  to  New  York  its  first  Ibsen  performance,  because 
no  regular  manager  would  attempt  Ibsen.  This  company 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         319 

was  probably  imitative  of  the  Stage  Society  in  London,  even 
as  the  National  Art  Theatre  Society,  of  1903,  was  a  reflec 
tion  in  New  York  of  the  agitation  in  London  for  a  National 
Theatre,  started  by  Henry  Arthur  Jones.  The  self-conscious 
organizing  of  the  New  Theatre  in  New  York  was  symbolical 
of  the  wrong  way  in  which  artistic  revolt  in  the  theatre  has 
been  conducted  by  American  reformers.  The  idea  that  here 
tofore  predominated  was  that  money  can  establish  anything, 
and  establish  it  quickly.  We  thought  that,  with  the  erection 
of  a  building  dedicated  to  high  art,  good  drama  and  good 
taste  would  readily  flow  in.  The  experiment  proved  that  such 
was  not  the  case. 

The  first  Little  Theatre  in  America  saw  the  light  in  Boston. 
It  was  unwisely  run  on  private  capital,  and  soon  this  pioneer 
effort  was  struggling  for  existence.  At  this  moment,  when  the 
Little  Theatre  Movement  is  at  its  height  in  this  country, 
the  Boston  playhouse  remains  dark.  Such  a  failure  has  not 
received  careful  consideration  from  the  other  organizing 
groups.  Nowhere  has  there  been  a  proper  analysis  of  why 
the  Boston  Little  Theatre  failed,  or  why  later  on  the  Phila 
delphia  Little  Theatre  failed.  Groups  are  rushing  in  without 
giving  thought  to  the  pitfalls  which  have  already  confronted 
others;  without  measuring  the  intensity  with  which  a  com 
munity  really  desires  good  art.  The  idea  of  a  Little  Theatre 
is  a  contagious  one,  and  the  epidemic  rages. 

The  philosophy  of  the  movement  seems  to  be  this:  that 
the  theatre,  being  a  social  institution,  the  sooner  we  socialize 
it  the  better  it  will  be  for  the  freedom  of  art.  But  should  not 
the  situation  be  entirely  reversed?  The  sooner  we  create 
within  people  a  real  love  for,  and  understanding  of  art,  the 
sooner  will  the  theatre,  dominated  by  the  revolutionary 
group  of  artists,  become  socialized  through  a  social  demand 
for  it. 

We  wonder  whether  the  Washington  Square  Players,  with 


320  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

all  their  community  ambitions,  and  with  all  their  independ 
ence,  have  satisfied  their  own  clientele  sufficiently  to  make 
a  livelihood,  or  whether  they  have  attracted  the  public  suf 
ficiently  to  give  them  encouragement  for  their  future  per 
manence.  The  Organization  has  presented  plays  which  are 
interesting,  but  their  choice  of  repertory  has  not  been  repre 
sentative  of  what  theatregoers  really  want.  They  are  not 
even  organized  as  a  socialized  group,  but  came  into  being 
purely  as  experimenters,  dominated  by  certain  esthetic  man 
nerisms.  Such  a  group  of  esthetes  must  inevitably  stand 
outside  the  real  movement  of  the  theatre  to-day  —  outside 
the  real  revolt.  They  have  only  imitated  in  spirit  a  conti 
nental  idea  which  has  become  a  fixed  idea  among  amateurs. 
When  the  continental  idea  gets  the  upper  hold  of  a  group  of 
young  workers,  it  is  hard  to  shake  it  off. 

With  the  advent  of  the  Little  Theatre  Movement,  there  has 
developed  into  being  the  laboratory  method  in  the  theatre. 
It  has  now  become  a  popular  belief  that  not  only  is  drama 
an  art  which  under  the  microscope  of  college  specializa 
tion  can  be  reduced  to  technical  terms,  but  that  the  theatre 
is  a  social  institution  whose  functions  may  be  taught,  even 
as  architecture  or  music.  In  Pittsburgh,  at  the  School  of 
Technology,  this  laboratory  method  is  carried  out  to  its 
fullest  extent,  with  the  cooperation  of  the  School  of  Design 
and  the  School  of  Music.  The  work  of  the  Department  of 
Dramatic  Arts,  so  it  is  definitely  stated,  is  planned  to  give  the 
student  a  general  knowledge  of  the  technique  of  the  drama, 
approaching  it  by  literary  and  historical  courses,  as  well  as 
through  a  severe  training  in  practical  technical  work.  Its 
course  in  drama  offers  an  opportunity  for  the  student  to 
study  the  theatre  itself  in  its  several  aspects. 

Elsewhere,  this  laboratory  method  is  being  preached  to 
even  fuller  extent.  There  are  some  who  go  so  far  as  to  desire, 
instead  of  a  school  of  drama  for  the  novice,  a  "University" 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         321 

of  the  theatre,  where  the  professional  managers,  actors,  and 
scenic  artists  may,  so  to  speak,  take  post-graduate  courses; 
may  come  to  this  university  to  "  try  out"  plays  and  formulate 
principles  which  later  they  may  bring  back  to  the  professional 
theatre  itself. 

The  laboratory  idea  seems  to  be  dominant  in  the  Little 
Theatre  Movement.  Instead  of  the  word  "laboratory," 
it  were  well  to  substitute  the  word  "experimental."  As  long 
as  Little  Theatres,  in  this  country,  persist  in  the  principle  of 
experimentalism,  rather  than  attempt  to  court  the  idea  of 
competition  with  professionalism,  they  will  be  beneficial 
wherever  they  are  established.  Their  presence  indicates 
there  is  a  large  body  of  people  whose  interest  is  waiting  to 
be  unified  in  the  cause  of  art,  —  a  unification  different  from 
the  organizing  of  audiences,  which  is  the  fundamental  idea 
of  the  Drama  League  of  America.  They  need  someone  to 
discover  for  them  the  real  national  requirements,  and  they 
await  some  vigorous  statement  of  the  true  mission  of  the 
Little  Theatre. 

In  the  present  discussion,  such  a  playhouse  as  Winthrop 
Ames's  Little  Theatre,  or  Charles  Hopkins's  Punch  and  Judy 
Theatre,  in  New  York,  should  be  ruled  out.  Not  only  are 
both  of  these  classed  as  commercial  houses,  but  they  are  also 
farthest  away  from  the  amateur  spirit.  They  are  presided 
over  by  men  who  happen  to  be  anxious  to  do  artistic  work  in 
a  professional  manner.  There  are  some  Little  Theatres  dom 
inated  entirely  by  the  educational  idea.  They  have  come 
into  being  with,  a  sociological  purpose.  Such  playhouses 
are  those  encouraged  by  Hull  House,  Chicago,  and  by  the 
Henry  Street  Settlement,  New  York.  If  you  will  examine  the 
repertory  of  the  Hull  House  Players,  you  will  find  one  that 
gives  them  an  honorable  history,  as  far  as  amateur  ambition 
is  concerned.  While  the  Hull  House  Players  have  attracted 
to  them  the  intellectual  and  artistic  interests  of  Chicago,  and 


322  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

while  they  have  entertained  most  of  the  well-known  literary 
visitors  who  have  come  to  America  from  abroad,  they  have 
never  once  courted  the  idea  of  professionalism.  And  though 
they  have  persisted,  for  over  a  decade,  it  cannot  be  said  that 
they  have  in  any  way  influenced  the  theatrical  situation  in 
Chicago.  Yet,  to  their  credit  let  it  be  recorded  that  they  have 
given  a  hearing  to  many  young  American  playwrights  anxious 
to  deal  with  social  questions ;  and  in  some  respects  they  have 
been  more  loyal  to  writers,  like  Galsworthy,  than  the  legiti 
mate  theatre  itself.  They  have  clone  their  work  knowingly, 
and  in  the  highest  sense  they  have  trained  their  amateur  ac 
tors  in  a  tradition  which  undoubtedly  reacts  on  their  taste 
to  its  betterment. 

We  have  heard  much  about  the  educational  idea  in  the 
theatre,  about  educational  dramatics  and  the  educational 
theatre  for  children,  as  discussed  by  Mrs.  Minnie  Herts 
Heniger  and  Mrs.  Emma  Sheridan  Fry.  But  while  the  dra 
matic  instinct  is  a  valuable  educational  adjunct,  used  in 
schools  and  social  centres  to  excellent  advantage,  the  tendency 
is  to  overdo  it,  to  sentimentalize  the  work  with  the  idea 
that  self-expression  on  the  part  of  children  is  better  than  self- 
observation  of  a  thing  artistically  done  by  professionals  in 
the  professional  theatre. 

I  can  see  no  value  in  the  educational  idea  as  applied  to  the 
theatre,  except  in  so  far  as  it  will  tend  to  help  create  in  the 
multitude  a  sincere  taste  for  drama  which  will  later  increase 
the  intelligence  of  the  theatre-going  public.  That  is  why  it 
was  wise  to  keep  distinct  from  each  other  the  social  work 
of  the  Henry  Street  Settlement  and  the  artistic  work  of  its 
dramatic  department  —  a  distinction  which  resulted  in  tlu> 
establishment  of  the  Neighborhood  Playhouse  under  the 
guidance  of  two  such  ambitious  and  generous  Directors  as 
the  Misses  Lewisohn. 

With  all  the  newspaper  heralding  of  the  Washington  Square 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         323 

Players,  with  all  the  efforts  of  the  Toy  Theatre,  in  Boston, 
and  the  Little  Theatre,  in  Philadelphia,  and  even  with  the 
undeniable  art  shown  in  Winthrop  Ames's  Little  Theatre, 
it  took  the  quiet,  unassuming  little  theatre  on  Grand  Street, 
New  York,  to  make  the  reputation  of  a  dramatist  and  to 
bring  him  into  popular  vogue.  The  Neighborhood  Playhouse, 
through  its  presentation  of  Dunsany's  "  A  Night  at  an  Inn," 
and  its  later  performances  given  in  most  adequate  manner 
of  "The  Queen's  Enemies"  and  "The  Glittering  Gate," 
helped  to  establish  the  work  of  Lord  Dunsany  in  the  minds 
of  the  American  public. 

To  the  credit  of  the  Misses  Lewisohn,  two  things  are  worthy 
of  note  —  that  they  have  actually  encouraged  and  popu 
larized  a  real  and  new  playwright,  a  feat  accomplished  by  no 
other  Little  Theatre;  and  that,  in  a  city  over-ridden  by 
the  "  Broadway  idea,"  they  have  forced  an  interested  public 
to  go  all  the  way  down  to  Grand  Street,  in  order  to  witness 
performances  which  would  have  gone  on,  were  the  up-town 
public  present  or  absent.  Another  excellent  point  in  favor 
of  the  Neighborhood  Playhouse  is  that,  in  accord  with  the 
laboratory  method,  which  has  been  put  into  practice  by 
Professor  Baker,  at  Harvard,  Mr.  Sam  Hume,  in  Detroit, 
and  others  elsewhere,  it  has  manufactured  its  own  costumes 
and  scenery,  done  in  the  new  manner  of  decoration  and 
design,  and  in  line  with  the  most  advanced  methods  of 
stagecraft.  In  addition  to  which,  they  have  been  enabled  to 
offer  to  their  community  worthwhile  drama  that  could  be 
sold  at  the  nominal  charge  of  twenty-five  and  fifty  cents. 
The  Misses  I^ewisohn  have  lived  up  to  their  original  inten 
tion,  stated  in  very  definite  terms  in  their  initial  prospectus. 
Therein  it  was  claimed  that  the  Neighborhood  Playhouse 
hoped  to  be  a  community  theatre,  where  the  traditions  of 
the  neighborhood  could  find  artistic  expression,  where  anyone 
with  special  gifts  could  contribute  his  talents,  and  where 


324  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

interesting  productions  of  serious  plays  and  comedies,  as 
well  as  of  the  lighter  forms  of  entertainment,  could  be  found. 
By  the  variety  of  its  programmes,  the  Playhouse  aims  to 
appeal  to  a  public  of  diverse  tastes,  interests,  and  ages,  and 
in  this  way  to  share  in  the  life  of  the  community. 

Another  independent  theatre  idea  was  nurtured  and  fos 
tered  by  a  settlement  group.  When  Stuart  Walker  first 
conceived  his  Portmanteau  Theatre,  he  gave  his  initial  dress- 
rehearsal  at  Christadora  House,  in  New  York.  It  was  then 
his  idea  to  present  plays  with  the  best  actors  available,  and 
with  the  best  scenery  and  costumes,  for  the  entertainment  of 
the  people  of  the  Settlement;  after  which  the  Portmanteau 
Theatre,  in  order  to  be  self-supporting,  would  act  profes 
sionally  in  homes,  schools,  and  clubs.  Then  Mr.  Walker 
began  to  branch  out,  until  now  we  fear  that,  however  original 
his  idea  of  a  portable,  folding  theatre,  which  can  be  carried 
to  all  points  of  the  compass,  and  however  much  we  have 
enjoyed  the  presentation  of  such  pieces  as  "Gammer  Gur- 
ton's  Needle"  and  Lord  Dunsany's  "King  Argimenes,"  a 
tendency  is  to  be  seen  on  his  part  to  lose  perspective  of  the 
pioneer  character  of  his  work.  Because  of  cordial  public 
recognition,  he  shows  an  inclination  to  branch  out  into  the 
competitive  field  of  the  theatre,  and  seems  anxious  to  shake 
from  his  shoulders  the  perfectly  legitimate  and  commendable 
role  of  amateur.  Mr.  Walker  would  be  helping  the  artistic 
revolt  were  he  to  rest  content  to  remain  a  pioneer,  inculcating 
in  people  a  taste  for  the  better  type  of  drama,  presented  in 
an  artistic  and  inexpensive  way.  His  Little  Theatre  proves 
most  conclusively  the  practicality  of  the  points  brought  for 
ward  by  Professor  Dickinson  in  his  book,  "  The  Case  of  Amer 
ican  Drama,"  and  summed  up  in  the  belief  that  what 
American  dramatic  art  is  suffering  from  to-day  is  the  dis 
tortion  of  values  in  the  theatre. 

Mr.  Walker's  productions  do  not  depend  upon  real  estate. 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         325 

His  whole  artistic  contribution  consists  in  the  use  of  para 
phernalia  which  allows  him  to  set  his  stage  in  a  school-room 
or  bring  his  stage  to  a  parlor.  The  Portmanteau  Theatre  does 
not,  in  fact,  depend  on  any  land  values  whatsoever.  It  has 
the  ambulatory  character  of  the  "circuit  rider/'  who  needed 
no  church  in  which  to  preach,  his  pulpit  being  the  pommel 
of  a  saddle.  The  sooner  the  theatre,  economically,  makes  it 
possible  for  productions  to  be  brought  to  the  people,  rather 
than  for  the  people  to  be  brought,  through  extensive  adver 
tising  and  expensive  costuming,  to  the  theatre,  the  sooner 
will  the  socializing  of  the  theatre  take  place.  Other  centres, 
upholding  the  workshop  idea,  have  already  put  into  effect 
a  similar  travelling  company  with  a  portable  stage  modelled 
after  the  manner  of  Stuart  Walker's.  It  would  not  surprise 
us  to  find  later  on  this  example  greeted  eagerly  by  isolated 
communities  in  the  rural  districts,  where  stage  accessories 
are  difficult  to  procure.  Did  not  the  English  Miracle  Plays 
and  the  French  Mysteres  develop  the  pageant  wagon? 

Nearly  all  the  large  cities  in  the  United  States  at  the  pres 
ent  time  have  Little  Theatres,  or  are  about  to  establish  them. 
We  find  them  in  Indianapolis,  in  Detroit,  in  Milwaukee,  in 
St.  Louis,  in  Kansas  City,  in  the  University  of  North  Dakota, 
in  the  Agricultural  College  of  Fargo,  and  from  there  straight 
on  to  the  Pacific  coast.  They  are  all  trying  to  work  along 
the  same  lines.  In  fact,  many  of  them  have  the  same  reper 
tories.  Whether  the  Little  Playhouse  Company  of  Cincin 
nati,  or  the  Players  Workshop  of  Chicago,  or  the  Players 
Club  of  San  Francisco;  whether  the  Lake  Forest  Players, 
or  the  Drama  League  Players  of  Washington,  —  they  are  all 
striving  to  present  the  unusual  and  to  do  the  uncommercial 
thing. 

It  is  interesting  to  note,  by  the  repetition  of  plays  from 
town  to  town,  what  dramas  have  been  found  peculiarly 
adapted  to  the  demands  of  the  Little  Theatre;  how  cordial 


326  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Little  Theatre  audiences  have  been  to  the  one-act  play,  not 
only  because  it  represents  less  outlay  in  the  matter  of  pro 
duction,  but  because  there  is  something  peculiarly  fitting  that 
a  little  play  should  be  given  in  a  Little  Theatre. 

The  one-act  play  is  the  vogue  to-day  —  not  alone  in  vaude 
ville,  where  only  twenty  minutes  may  be  the  longest  time 
devoted  to  a  "turn";  not  only  in  the  legitimate  theatre, 
where  it  is  used  on  rare  occasions;  but  in  the  experimental 
theatre,  where  the  playwrights  are  usually  given  experience 
in  rehearsing,  which  they  sorely  need  and  which  the  legitimate 
theatre  will  not,  under  present  conditions,  afford  them.  The 
consequence  is,  George  Middle  ton  and  Percival  Wilde  and 
Oliphant  Down,  and  many  others  of  the  younger  American 
playwrights,  whose  dramas,  though  published,  have  not  been 
given  to  the  public  in  the  legitimate  theatre,  have  found  the 
requisite  haven  in  the  community  playhouses. 

So  recognized  is  it  that  the  one-act  form  is  best  suited  for 
the  Little  Theatre  movement,  that  all  the  important  attempts 
of  the  Washington  Square  Players  have  been  one-act;  the 
Provincetown  Players  have  written  nothing  but  one-act 
plays;  Professor  Dickinson's  group  of  writers  in  Wisconsin 
turned  to  the  one-act  form.  And  the  University  of  North 
Dakota  has  offered  courses  in  the  technique  of  the  one-act 
play,  the  Bankside  Theatre  and  the  Sock  and  Buskin  Society 
of  that  institution  producing  the  plays  written  in  class. 

This  aptness  for  the  one-act  play  in  the  Little  Theatre  does 
not  necessarily  mean  that  a  full-grown  play  cannot  be  done 
in  a  small  place.  Mr.  Ames  has  shown  how  well  it  can  be 
done  in  a  professional  way.  But,  as  soon  as  a  full  play  is 
given,  it  demands,  if  it  be  a  play  of  any  acting  possibility,  of 
any  literary  value  and  spiritual  content,  a  consistent  note  of 
presentation  which  the  amateurs  —  who  generally  are  the 
actors  in  the  Little  Theatres  —  cannot  sustain  or  even  hope 
to  approach. 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         327 

It  may  be  taken  as  one  of  the  positive  results  of  the  Little 
Theatre  Movement,  that  it  is  doing  more  than  the  professional 
theatre  to  encourage  the  unknown  playwright.  It  is  training 
for  legitimate  stage  work  a  group  of  enthusiasts  who  in  the 
future  will  do  much  to  revolutionize  the  professional  stage. 
As  the  number  of  theatres  increases,  so  will  the  range  of  in 
fluence  increase  likewise.  What  is  now  lost,  in  a  well-stated 
object,  is  counterbalanced  by  a  gain  in  effect  on  the  immediate 
communities.  The  Little  Theatres  are  striving  for  something, 
as  yet  unstated,  but  which  is  definitely  opposed  to  the  com 
mercial  idea. 

At  Hull  House,  in  Chicago,  "Justice,"  "The  Pigeon," 
"The  Silver  Box,"  "The  Tragedy  of  Nan,"  and  countless 
other  plays  which  are  representative  of  the  best  in  modern 
English  drama  have  been  given.  But  the  workers  there  have 
never  thought,  so  we  have  been  led  to  believe,  that  as  an 
amateur  organization  they  could  ever  compete  with  the  pro 
fessional,  however  near  they  might  reach  a  professional 
standard.  What  we  should  understand  is  this:  recognition 
on  the  part  of  the  public  that  these  Little  Theatres  are  the 
real  centres  of  art,  rather  than  centres  of  experimentation, 
will  tend  to  lower  the  standard  of  the  professional  stage, 
and,  certainly,  the  stage  is  low  enough  at  the  present  time, 
both  in  acting  and  in  details  of  execution!  If  the  amateurs 
throughout  the  country  are  to  become  professional,  then  they 
must  cease  being  amateurs.  In  these  Little  Theatres,  the 
only  one  who  need  not  be  an  amateur  is  the  playwright.  His 
standard  may  be  high,  and  should  be  high;  a  rigorous  de 
mand  for  the  best  drama  on  the  part  even  of  the  amateur 
actor  should  do  much  to  raise  the  standard  of  the  American 
dramatist's  art. 

Sometimes  these  Little  Theatres  assume,  through  the  genius 
of  an  individual  worker,  the  proportions  and  importance  of 
the  professional  theatre;  though  the  productions  are  given 


328  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

with  the  assistance  of  amateurs,  the  dominant  personality  of 
the  Director  persists.  However  commendable,  in  some  re 
spects,  the  efforts  of  the  Washington  Square  Players  may  be, 
they  have  not  approached  the  art  of  the  theatre  with  that 
humility  which  would  make  them  realize  that,  if  they  are  to 
compete  with  Broadway,  as  their  geographical  position  in 
New  York  City  would  lead  one  to  think  they  were  trying  to 
do,  their  one  hope  for  salvation  would  be  to  place  themselves 
in  the  hands  of  a  competent  stage-director. 

The  work  of  Sam  Hume,  a  graduate  of  Harvard,  has  been 
in  the  new  stage  art.  We  have  seen  his  stage  models  shaped 
in  accord  with  theories  learned  from  Gordon  Craig  and  Stan 
islavsky.  It  is  encouraging  to  note  that  the  young  Amer 
ican  decorator,  who  is  in  the  new  movement,  is  more  balanced 
in  the  use  of  the  theories  of  line  and  mass,  of  pure  design  and 
mood,  than  the  continental  artist.  Robert  Edmond  Jones, 
who  watched  the  work  of  Reinhardt,  in  Berlin,  and  who 
studied  abroad,  has  a  natural  gift  for  inventiveness  with 
color;  he  is  another  excellent  example  of  the  hope  for  the 
future.  Both  Hume  and  Jones  are  doing  creative  work,  and 
their  effect  has  been  seen  in  many  productions  for  the  Little 
Theatres.  Both  men  have  experimented  with  line,  have  shown 
practically  to  the  practical  theatrical  manager  how  the  new 
art  may  be  time-saving  as  well  as  money-saving,  may  be 
within  taste  and  likewise  fulfil  all  the  demands  of  an  over- 
pampered  taste  which  the  commercial  theatre  has  catered  to 
for  so  many  years.  Hume  has  written  sanely  on  the  new 
scenic  theories  as  propounded  by  the  foreign  experimenters, 
and  he  has  proceeded  to  put  into  practice,  just  as  Jones  has 
put  into  practice  for  the  professional  manager,  what  he  has 
learned. 

Hume  has  been  experimenting  with  Little  Theatres,  serv 
ing  as  the  head  of  the  Arts  and  Crafts  Theatre  in  Detroit. 
He  is  the  one  Director  of  a  Little  Theatre  who  has,  thus  far, 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         329 

considered  the  indisputable  fact  of  supply  and  demand. 
It  was  a  fact  recognized  by  the  London  Stage  Society,  when 
that  body  decided,  during  its  existence,  to  give  only  two  even 
ing  performances  and  one  matinee  of  each  production,  open 
to  members  only,  who  did  not  buy  their  seats,  but  who  sub 
scribed  for  membership  to  the  Society,  thus  evading  the 
Censor,  and  permitting  them  to  give  performances  on  Sun 
day.  The  Provincetown  Players  have  followed  the  external 
idea  of  the  Stage  Society.  It  was  left  for  Mr.  Hume,  in  De 
troit,  to  adopt  the  spirit.  "Our  season  here,"  he  writes, 
"is  assured  by  subscription.  We  make  one  production  a 
month,  and  give  three  performances  —  all  there  is  a  demand 
for  at  present.  We  believed  it  wiser  to  start  with  the  de 
mand,  and  let  our  organization  and  number  of  performances 
expand  as  the  demand  increases,  rather  than  to  begin  with 
an  imagined  demand  which  would  leave  us  at  the  end  of  the 
season  with  a  debt." 

This  is  surely  a  wise  approach,  a  wise  experimenting  with 
public  taste;  it  reduces  to  a  minimum  the  risk  which  has 
made  the  commercial  manager  accept  plays  with  his  eye 
fixed  on  box-office  receipts.  It  also  allows  the  Director,  in 
this  particular  case  Mr.  Hume,  to  put  into  practice  his 
artistic  ambitions.  At  various  times,  subscribers  to  the 
Arts  and  Crafts  Theatre,  in  Detroit,  have  been  given  pro 
ductions  of  the  Chester  Miracle  drama,  "Abraham  and 
Isaac,"  and  Laurence  Housman's  "The  Chinese  Lantern." 
They  have  borrowed  plays  from  the  Wisconsin  repertory, 
from  the  Washington  Square  Players,  from  the  Provincetown 
Players,  and  have  drawn  likewise  from  the  dramas  of  the 
Glasgow  Repertory  Theatre.  With  them,  as  with  the  Wash 
ington  Square  Players,  Maeterlinck  has  offered  large  possi 
bilities,  and  with  them,  as  with  the  Neighborhood  Play 
house  and  the  Portmanteau  Theatre,  Dunsany  is  in  great 
demand. 


330  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

These  Little  Theatres  throughout  the  country  are  eagerly 
watching  the  work  being  done  by  other  related  organizations, 
and  are  anxious  to  exchange  tried  successes.  This  interplay 
of  ideas  arid  productions  points  the  way  to  the  possibility  of 
a  chain  of  Little  Theatres  being  established  some  day,  as 
soon  as  they  are  individually  well-founded  in  the  community 
—  thus  assuring  them  a  local  permanence  —  and  forming  a 
circuit  for  the  closer  union  of  their  efforts.  This  circuit  would 
result  in  a  more  effective  campaign  against'  the  commercial 
circuit  now  bringing  to  isolated  communities  the  poorest 
pieces  of  a  past  New  York  theatrical  season.  Already  we 
find  that  the  Wisconsin  Players  have  visited  Chicago  arid 
Pittsburgh;  that  the  Washington  Square  Players  have  had  a 
second  company  on  the  road;  that  the  Portmanteau  Theatre 
has  travelled  to  the  coast,  and  gained  for  itself  a  recognition 
which  is  worthy. 

Mr.  Hume,  in  Detroit,  has  done  another  estimable  thing, 
and  in  doing  so  he  has  declared  his  good  intention  of  reaching 
the  full  value  of  the  community  idea.  "I  do  not  look  upon 
the  Little  Theatre  as  a  laboratory,"  he  writes,  "  where  a  few 
people  work  out  their  own  personal  and  usually  very  queer 
and  highly  specialized  ideas;  but  a  theatre  which,  to  justify 
its  existence,  must  establish  some  definite  point  of  contact 
with  community  life." 

•Immediately  on  assuming  control  of  the  Arts  and  Crafts 
Theatre,  he  offered  a  prize  of  one  hundred  dollars  for  a  play 
written  by  a  Michigan  man,  being  careful  also  in  his  first  bill 
to  present  a  piece  by  a  native  dramatist  of  Detroit.  This 
offering  of  prizes,  either  in  the  form  of  money,  or  in  the  form 
of  an  assured  production,  has  become  quite  common  among 
the  Little  Theatres.  In  Boston,  for  a  number  of  years,  John 
Craig,  of  the  Castle  Square  Theatre,  has  cooperated  with 
Professor  Baker,  of  Harvard,  and  has  given  adequate  pro 
ductions  of  the  prize  plays  corning  from  "Workshop  47." 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         331 

In  this  way,  Fred  Ballard,  author  of  "  Believe  Me,  Xantippe!" 
and  "Young  America,"  obtained  his  first  hearing.  When  we 
discover  small  communities  ambitious  enough  to  offer  the 
same  incentive,  in  order  to  discover  talents  near  at  hand, 
we  mark  an  encouraging  possibility  in  the  Little  Theatre 
Movement. 

The  Prairie  Playhouse,  of  Galesburg,  Illinois,  owned  and 
directed  by  private  individuals  within  the  community,  was 
established  for  the  special  purpose  of  awakening  and  develop 
ing  the  rich  dramatic  field  which  lies  as  yet  untouched  in  the 
upper  Mississippi  Valley.  A  prize  was  offered  for  the  best 
one-act  play  which  "the  Prairie  Playhouse  will  produce 
carefully  and  artistically;  will  pay  the  author  ten  dollars  per 
night  every  night  of  production  (three  nights  guaranteed); 
will  reserve  no  rights  over  .  .  .  after  production;  and  will 
use  its  influence  to  get  .  .  .  before  a  larger  public."  We  can 
imagine  Galesburg  closing  its  shops  in  order  to  finish  manu 
scripts  in  time!  The  positive  effect  of  such  activity  is  to 
open  many  new  possibilities  to  the  American  dramatist,  the 
same  possibilities  as  were  recognized  by  Professor  Dickinson, 
Zona  Gale,  and  William  Ellery  Leonard  in  their  writing  for 
the  Wisconsin  Dramatic  Society. 

At  the  University  of  North  Dakota,  under  the  guidance  of 
Professor  Frederick  H.  Koch,  the  students  have  produced 
such  an  ambitious  reflection  of  community  tradition  as  "  The 
Pageant  of  the  Northwest,"  given  at  the  natural  Bankside 
Theatre  of  the  University,  May  28,  1914.  This  piece  has 
brought  into  practice  a  curious  and  interesting  experiment 
on  the  part  of  Professor  Koch,  who  believes  not  only  in  a 
community  theatre,  but  in  community  playwriting  as  well. 
His  idea  is  that,  in  a  class  of  eighteen  or  twenty,  under  the 
guidance  of  an  Instructor,  an  artistic  work  can  be  constructed 
by  suggestions  received  from  all  the  members  of  the  group 
working  together.  Not  only  was  the  "  Pageant  of  the  North- 


332  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

west"  written  in  collaboration,  but  during  the  Shakespeare 
Tercentenary  season,  an  ambitious  piece,  entitled  "Shake 
speare,  the  Play  maker, "  was  effectively  carried  through  by 
Professor  Koch,  who  had  under  his  inspiration  twenty  student 
dramatists.  Following  that  work,  the  course  in  one-act  play- 
writing  was  offered  students,  many  of  the  pieces  forth 
coming  reflecting  the  life  of  North  Dakota.  For  example, 
one  young  dramatist  wrote  a  play,  called  "  Wanted  a  Farmer," 
which  was  suggested  by  a  visit  of  the  North  Dakota  Bachelor 
Farmers  to  the  Chicago  Live  Stock  Show.  Certainly,  as 
local  atmosphere,  such  a  play  is  keeping  very  close  to  the 
soil! 

One  beneficial  result  coming  from  the  establishment  of 
Little  Playhouses  in  isolated  communities  is  this:  that  even 
though  they  may  not  have  the  power  of  materially  affecting 
the  present  theatrical  situation,  they  may  have  the  immediate 
power  of  shedding  light  in  a  community  where  light  is  sorely 
needed. 

On  the  prairies  of  North  Dakota,  at  Fargo,  where  the  Agri 
cultural  College  is  situated,  the  Little  Country  Theatre  has 
done  much  to  stimulate  the  latent  imagination  of  a  very 
mixed  population  —  a  population  where  seventy-two  per 
cent,  of  the  people  are  either  foreign  born  or  are  of  foreign 
descent.  The  object  of  the  Little  Country  Theatre,  its  Di 
rector  says,  is  to  produce  such  plays  and  exercises  as  can  be 
easily  staged  in  a  country  school,  in  the  basement  of  a  coun 
try  church,  in  the  sitting-room  of  a  home,  in  the  village  or 
town  hall,  or  in  any  place  where  people  assemble  for  social 
betterment. 

From  this  we  can  see  that  the  educational  side  is  para 
mount  in  some  of  these  Little  Theatres,  and  that  the  artistic 
interest  must  necessarily  be  limited  by  the  rural  character  of 
the  audience.  The  community  must  be  taken  into  considera 
tion  in  the  selection  of  a  repertory.  That  is  why  it  is  unwise 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         333 

for  a  Director  to  think  Schnitzler's  "  Anatole"  is  suited  to  the 
tastes  of  the  arid  plains  of  Arizona!  It  is  a  principle  which 
the  commercial  manager  may  say  he  has  himself  tried  to 
follow  —  a  principle  which  he  sums  up  in  the  belief  that  he 
is  giving  the  public  what  it  wants.  The  question  which  nat 
urally  comes  to  us  is  whether  the  manager  is  capable  of 
judging  what  the  public  wants,  whether  he  has  sufficient 
evidence  of  the  trend  of  popular  taste.  The  argument  of 
many  reformers  in  revolt  against  the  commercial  manager 
is  that,  on  the  one  hand,  he  shows  no  artistic  ambition,  and, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  does  not  rightly  measure  what  all  the 
public  wants.  He  caters  to  the  lowest  standard  of  taste. 

When  Bertram  Harrison  assumed  control  of  the  Municipal 
Theatre  in  Northampton,  Massachusetts,  he  was  confronted 
with  an  interesting  problem.  The  manager  of  any  playhouse, 
which  appeals  to  two  very  widely  differing  sets  of  people, 
indeed  has  a  problem.  The  University,  represented  by  Smith 
College,  and  the  working  classes,  represented  by  the  mill- 
town  population,  were  the  ones  for  whom  Mr.  Harrison  had 
to  cater.  He  was  pledged  to  adopt  a  policy  which  would  re 
sult  in  the  selection  of  plays  according  to  a  mean  between 
these  two  extremes,  every  now  and  then  attempting  what  the 
Little  Theatre  people  might  designate  as  "  the  artistic  thing." 
His  repertories  have  included  plays  which  usually  find  their 
way  into  the  stock  regime.  The  consequence  is,  the  North 
ampton  Players  are,  more  or  less,  a  stock  company  subject 
to  municipal  regulations.  They  depend,  because  of  the  special 
demands  of  the  audiences,  not  so  much  on  original  productions 
as  on  productions  leased  from  the  legitimate  commercial 
theatre  because  of  their  popular  and  their  successful  character. 
Therefore,  Mr.  Harrison's  problem  is  different  from  the  Little 
Theatre  problem.  It  is  at  the  same  time  both  experimental 
and  professional. 

The  establishment  of  a  Little  Theatre  does  not  guarantee 


334  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

that  those  who  are  in  charge  really  know  all  that  they  should 
know  about  the  theatre.  The  danger  lies  in  the  fact  that  a 
group  of  amateurs  are  experimenting  with  a  valuable  set  of 
artistic  tools.  There  arc  so  many  people  who  have  a  dis 
gruntled  attitude  toward  the  theatre,  and  who  assume  that 
this  attitude  gives  them  a  privileged  knowledge  regarding 
what  the  theatre  really  needs  for  its  improvement.  Particu 
larly  is  there  danger  coming  from  University  channels,  where 
the  authorities  are  now  taking  active  interest  in  the  dramatic 
enthusiasm  shown  among  the  student  bodies.  For  some 
years,  Dartmouth  College,  under  the  very  striking  direction 
of  the  students,  not  only  gave  worthy  performances,  which 
drove  out  the  regular  college  musical  inanity,  but  produced 
so  well  that  the  people  of  Hanover,  New  Hampshire,  expressed 
a  willingness  to  support  these  productions  during  the  season. 
The  Dartmouth  Dramatic  Society  became  the  artistic  centre 
of  community  life. 

At  Oberlin,  Ohio,  under  Professor  Philip  D.  Sherman,  the 
work  done  by  the  College  Dramatic  Association  has  assumed 
such  significant  proportions  that  their  store-room  is  suffi 
ciently  rich  in  stage  properties  and  in  costumes  for  them  to 
be  able  to  present,  at  any  time,  a  most  commendable  reper 
tory  of  plays.  "Two  years  ago,"  said  Professor  Sherman, 
writing  in  October,  1916,  "we  brought  scene-painters  to 
Oberlin.  ...  In  addition  to  staging  plays,  the  Association 
brings  before  the  students  such  companies  as  Stuart  Walker's 
Portmanteau  Theatre,  the  Coburn  Players,  and  the  Chicago 
Little  Theatre  Company." 

In  other  words,  the  University  student  is  now  being  grad 
uated  with  an  idea  that  the  drama  is  something  to  be  acted, 
something  to  be  mounted  artistically,  rather  than  something 
to  be  studied  in  such  small  structural  detail  that  the  spirit 
of  the  drama  and  the  vitality  of  the  playhouse  are  lost  to 
view. 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         335 

But  the  University  has  to  be  careful  in  the  part  which  it 
desires  to  play  in  the  theatre  revolt.  It  must  realize  that  all 
this  awakened  interest  in  the  drama  did  not  come,  originally, 
from  the  University,  but  from  outside;  that,  until  the  stu 
dents,  through  a  wide-spread  interest  in  the  reading  of  plays, 
and  through  a  revival  of  interest  in  the  mechanical  details  of 
the  theatre  itself,  clamored  for  courses  in  the  drama,  the 
University  persisted  in  pointing  to  Restoration  Drama  as 
modern  drama,  and  refused  in  the  class-room  to  be  more  con 
temporary  than  Sheridan. 

The  reason  why  Professor  Sherman  is  meeting  with  effec 
tive  results  at  Oberlin  is  that  he  is  approaching  the  theatre, 
as  Professor  Koch  is  approaching  it  in  North  Dakota,  not 
as  one  connected  with  a  university,  but  as  one  connected  with 
the  theatre  itself.  The  revolutionists,  in  their  zeal,  sometimes 
forget  the  theatre! 

The  Little  Theatre  groups  naturally  turn  to  Professor 
George  Pierce  Baker,  of  Harvard,  as  the  original  source  of 
their  inspiration.  What  he  has  done  in  a  practical  way  for 
the  playhouse,  what  has  emanated  from  his  "Workshop 
47,"  has  grown  into  something  more  than  experiment.  It 
has  resulted  in  a  practical  illustration  of  the  theory  that 
dramatists,  who  were  once  born,  can  now,  to  a  certain  extent, 
be  made.  The  general  belief  is  that  the  University  should 
leave  its  impress  upon  a  body  of  dramaturgy.  But  it  is  our 
conviction  that  this  is  true  only  in  so  far  as  a  body  of  doc 
trine,  emanating  from  a  university,  might  educate  a  people, 
arousing  their  appreciation  for  better  things.  Of  course,  if 
the  University  could  send  forth  dramatists  filled  with  a  seri 
ous  determination  —  men  and  women  trained  to  the  best 
technique,  prompted  by  the  best  tradition  —  then  so  much 
the  better  for  the  stage.  But  where  the  University  has  yet 
to  show  its  influence  is  in  the  very  important  matter  of  awak 
ening  the  student  body  to  ideas  for  the  theatre,  without  which 


330  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

even  the  best  technique  is  a  mere  husk.  It  is  not  the  matter 
of  technique  that  makes  the  dramatist,  but  the  matter  of 
dramatic  instinct.  One  must  be  born  with  that. 

"Workshop  47"  has  turned  out  dramatists  with  an  under 
standing  of  stage  technique,  just  as  Columbia  University 
has  turned  out  a  group  of  dramatists  under  the  guidance  of 
Professor  Brander  Matthews.  This  University  interest  has 
resulted,  apart  from  the  splendid  pioneer  work  done  by  the 
Harvard  Dramatic  Association  and  the  Yale  Dramatic 
Association,  in  a  determination  on  the  part  of  the  Universities 
to  have  their  own  community  theatre.  Already  has  this  de 
sire  become  an  established  fact  in  many  of  our  University 
centres.  But  these  playhouses  should  not  be  grouped  in  the 
Little  Theatre  Movement;  being  under  University  patronage, 
they  will  assuredly  appeal  to  the  University  community,  and 
will  be  prompted  in  selection  of  repertories  by  academic 
standards.  It  may  be  that  some  day  Harvard,  Yale,  and 
Columbia  will  have  their  playhouses.  Already  have  Yale, 
Harvard,  Princeton,  and  the  University  of  Pennsylvania 
given  creditable  performances.  But,  at  the  present  experi 
mental  stage,  it  is  unwise  for  a  university  to  throw  the  gaunt 
let  down  and  challenge  the  commercial  theatre  by  actual 
production.  The  Dramatic  Department  of  Columbia  Uni 
versity  may,  through  outside  effort,  bring  to  light,  as  John 
Craig,  in  affiliation  with  Harvard,  has  brought  to  light,  many 
new  dramatists.  But  it  would  be  wrong  to  argue  that  had 
there  been  no  "Workshop  47"  and  no  Professor  Baker,  there 
would  have  been  no  Edward  Sheldon,  no  Josephine  Preston 
Peabody,  no  Percy  Mackaye;  and  had  there  been  no  Pro 
fessor  Matthews,  there  would  have  been  no  William  DeMille. 
There  is  no  doubt,  nevertheless,  that  because  of  the  different 
drama  courses  given  in  the  Colleges,  the  undergraduate  soil 
has  been  prepared  for  many  latent  writers  to  flourish  into 
being.  Except  for  awakening  interest  in  the  future  welfare 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         337 

of  the  theatre,  the  University  experiments  cannot  have 
any  appreciable  effect  at  the  present  time  on  the  dramatic 
situation. 

The  Little  Theatre  Movement,  in  fine,  must  be  regarded  as 
a  measure  of  restlessness,  not  entirely  as  pointing  the  way  out 
of  our  theatrical  difficulties.  There  is  no  reason  to  believe 
that  the  Little  Theatre  is  going  to  be  the  salvation  of  dramatic 
art  in  the  future.  There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  the 
Little  Theatre  is  doing  excellent  pioneer  work  in  educating 
the  public  to  a  realization  that  the  commercial  theatre  is 
letting  slip  untold  possibilities.  There  is  a  tendency  on  the 
part  of  managers  to  keep  their  eyes  on  Professor  Baker's 
yearly  output,  to  follow  closely  the  response  given  by  com 
munities  to  particular  productions  made  by  the  experi 
mental  playhouses.  For  example,  there  is  an  interest  shown 
on  the  part  of  the  managers  in  securing  some  of  the  Dunsany 
plays  which  they  once  overlooked,  but  which  are  now  brought 
to  success  in  the  Little  Theatres,  and  are  found  to  be  of  vital 
interest  to  the  theatre-going  public.  The  Little  Theatre, 
likewise,  has  shown  the  manager  the  advisability  of  trying 
out  plays  before  investing  commercially  in  heavy  productions. 

But,  unfortunately,  the  Little  Theatres  have  in  many 
instances  challenged  the  professional  theatre.  This  has  un 
wittingly  won  for  the  movement  the  antagonism  of  profes 
sional  people.  This  antagonism  has  been  increased  by  the 
self-assertiveness  of  such  artistic  centres  as  the  Washington 
Square  Players,  who,  no  matter  how  extensive  the  criticism, 
or  how  wise,  cannot  be  made  to  realize  that  they  are  bad 
actors,  and  are  in  need  of  a  good  director.  David  Belasco 
very  rightly  scored  the  Little  Theatres  on  account  of  their 
inexperience,  their  defiance  of  the  best  dramatic  traditions. 
"While  I  believe  in  amateur  acting  organizations,"  he  said, 
"and  want  them  to  exist  and  receive  every  encouragement, 
it  is  unwise  so  to  praise  their  efforts  as  to  turn  their  heads 


338  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

completely,  until  these  play-acting  actors  really  think  they 
can  act." 

Mr.  Belasco  spoke  a  propos  of  the  indiscriminate  praise 
bestowed  in  certain  quarters  on  the  Washington  Square 
Players.  It  came  at  a  time  when  this  organization,  none  too 
secure  in  its  dramatic  abilities,  announced  its  intention  of 
opening  a  school  of  acting.  The  irony  of  this  announcement, 
in  view  of  their  past  efforts,  was  not  seen  by  them,  inasmuch 
as,  true  to  their  class,  they  have  no  sense  of  humor  regarding 
their  work. 

The  Washington  Square  Players  are  not  singled  out  for 
any  personal  reason.  One  cannot  help  but  appreciate  the 
good  work  they  have  done.  They  simply  stand  as  a  warning 
because  they  have,  thus  far,  more  than  any  other  amateur 
art  group,  come  nearer  the  challenge  of  Broadway,  and  they 
have  in  consequence  had  drawn  down  upon  them  more  of 
the  limelight  of  publicity.  No  Little  Theatre  should  com 
pete  with  professionalism,  but  through  high  endeavor  should 
strive  to  point  the  way  toward  a  rehabilitation  of  the  pro 
fessional  theatre  of  the  future. 

The  immediate  problem  of  the  Little  Theatres  throughout 
the  country  seems  to  be  this:  to  make  themselves  so  neces 
sary  to  the  community  and  to  the  country  at  large,  as  experi 
mental  playhouses,  as  the  home  of  the  repertory  idea,  that, 
due  to  their  sincerity  of  purpose,  they  will  win  the  confidence 
of  the  professional  managers,  who  will  watch  them  and  the 
response  given  to  them  by  the  communities  in  which  they 
exist,  and  will  gain  from  this  careful  watchfulness  an  experi 
ence  which  will  gradually  awaken  them  to  the  fact  that  their 
box-office  standard  is  wrong  —  although  not  so  entirely 
wrong  as  the  reformers  seem  to  think. 

That  the  unproduced  American  dramatists  will  look  to  the 
Little  Theatres  for  encouragement  is  a  foregone  conclusion. 
That  they  should  receive  from  the  Little  Theatres  that  en- 


CRAZE  FOR  LITTLE  THEATRES         339 

couragement  for  which  they  are  looking,  is  a  natural  conse 
quence.  But  the  Little  Theatres  cannot  expect,  once  they 
have  discovered  the  possibilities  in  a  young  playwright,  to 
be  able  to  hold  that  playwright  to  the  narrow  economic 
field  in  which  they  are  working.  The  very  experimental 
character  of  their  work  would  indicate  that  they  could  never 
be  regularly  taken  into  the  commercial  field  on  a  standard  of 
amateurish.  Their  very  experimental  character,  likewise, 
shows  that,  whatever  their  positive  results,  their  most  effi 
cient  influence  will  be  in  accustoming  audiences  to  a  better 
type  of  play  and  in  allowing  the  unproduced  playwright  to 
externalize  that  which  the  manager  will  not  risk. 

The  Little  Theatres  may,  on  the  one  hand,  hope  to  de 
velop  new  dramatists.  On  the  other  hand,  they  may,  at  the 
present  moment,  consider  themselves  as  guardians  of  the  rep 
ertory  idea,  until  the  professional  theatre  sees  that  the  rep 
ertory  idea,  with  an  established  stock  company,  is  one  of 
the  wise  hopes  of  the  future.  It  may  be  that  when  that  time 
arrives,  the  Little  Theatres  will  become  so  well  established 
in  the  confidence  of  the  community  that  their  pioneer  work 
will  be  done,  and  they  will  themselves  become  centres  of  a 
larger  movement  which  takes  on  the  character  of  profession 
alism.  In  other  words,  having  effected  a  social  and  economic 
change  in  the  theatre,  having  brought  to  light  new  play 
wrights,  and  experimented  successfully  with  old  ones,  they 
may  then,  after  having  passed  through  the  fires  of  experi 
mentation,  become  not  only  a  force  but  a  factor  in  the  real 
theatrical  development.1 

1  A  book  on  the  subject  of  "  Little  Theatres  "  has  been  written 
by  Constance  D'Arcy  Mackay  (Henry  Holt  &  Co.).  For  interest 
ing  material  regarding  the  spirit  of  Little  Theatres,  the  reader  is 
referred  to  a  suggestive  pamphlet  written  by  Maurice  Brown,  en 
titled  "  The  Temple  of  Living  Art." 

Professor  Frederick  H.  Koch  has  issued  a  pamphlet  entitled  "The 
Amateur  Theatre  in  the  University,"  and  another  entitled  "Amateur 


340  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Values  in  Pageantry."  His  experiment  in  community  playwriting 
may  be  studied  through  the  published  Masque,  "Shakespeare,  the 
Playmaker,"  and  "A  Pageant  of  the  North- West,"  both  issued 
under  the  auspices  of  the  University  of  North  Dakota.  Alfred  Ar- 
vold  has  written  a  pamphlet  on  "The  Little  Country  Theatre,"  and 
also  has  published  an  address  bearing  on  the  subject,  dealing  with 
"Dynamic  Social  Forces."  Much  material  may  be  had  on  the  sub 
ject  of  Little  Theatres  and  the  modern  movement  by  consulting 
the  files  of  the  Play-Book,  published  by  the  Wisconsin  Dramatic 
Society  for  a  short  while  under  the  editorship  of  Thomas  H.  Dickin 
son;  by  consulting  the  "Dramatic  Index"  for  the  past  years  under 
the  general  entry  of  "Little  Theatres"  and  under  specific  names,  as 
The  Portmanteau  Theatre,  The  Neighborhood  Playhouse,  The 
Washington  Square  Players,  and  so  on.  A  suggestive  pamphlet  cover 
ing  the  Little  Theatre  activities  is  the  1916  Convention  Number 
of  the  Drama  League  Monthly. 

The  subject  of  the  Portmanteau  Theatre  has  been  treated  by 
Edward  Hale  Bierstadt  in  the  preface  to  a  volume  of  "Portman 
teau  Plays,"  published  by  Stewart  &  Kidd. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   NEED   FOR  A   DRAMATIC   LIBRARY 

THERE  have  been  many  movements  on  foot  to  establish  a 
dramatic  library  in  New  York  and  elsewhere  —  some  full 
collection  of  books  to  satisfy  the  intellectual  and  technical 
demands  of  the  theatrical  profession.  All  social  movements 
betoken  a  social  need,  and  in  the  present  extensive  library 
development,  no  one  has  bethought  himself  to  make  a  plea 
for  this  particular  branch  of  art  and  literature.  Yet  the 
need  is  there,  and  the  opportunity  is  still  awaiting  some  one 
to  make  the  idea  of  a  dramatic  library  a  fact. 

In  isolated  moments,  when  one  is  vainly  searching  for 
particular  books  on  costumes,  for  a  special  text  of  a  play 
such  as  "Dora,"  for  some  biographical  material  concerning 
a  bygone  "star,"  —  when  one  is  looking  for  such  data,  then 
it  is  that,  as  a  vain  search  is  made  here,  there,  and  every 
where,  wasting  time  and  energy  the  while,  there  is  a  faint 
yearning  for  some  special  library  where  comfort,  accuracy, 
and  completeness  are  housed  beneath  one  roof. 

No  one  will  deny  that  in  the  theatrical  profession  there 
may  be  found  the  specialist's  pride;  and  the  specialist  in 
drama  realizes  more  and  more  the  necessity  for  preserving 
records,  for  so  systematizing  the  best  that  has  been  thought 
and  written  in  all  departments  of  the  theatre,  as  to  give 
the  worker  immediate  authority  in  whatever  investigation 
of  a  professional  character  he  has  occasion  to  undertake. 

Perhaps  the  ones  who  have  suffered  most  in  this  lack  of  a 


312  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

dramatic  library  have  been  those  continuously  engaged 
in  researches  connected  with  stage  history.  Undoubtedly, 
those  who  have  indirectly  missed  quite  as  much  have  been 
the  people  whose  attitude  towards  the  theatre  is  a  practical 
one,  —  the  producing  manager  and  his  staff,  usually  com 
prising  an  art  director,  a  stage  director,  and  assistants.  But 
the  ones  in  the  end  to  be  most  vitally  hurt  by  this  particular 
neglect  will  be  those  who  are  to  inherit  the  traditions  of 
theatrical  history,  traditions  which  are  the  common  heritage 
of  the  nation  in  which  they  are  practiced  or  formed,  even 
though  they  might  not,  in  their  general  character,  pertain  to 
distinct  nationality. 

In  a  narrow,  local  sense,  there  are  two  evident  reasons 
why,  at  present,  the  time  is  opportune  for  urgent  cooperation 
in  this  matter  of  a  dramatic  library  —  a  cooperation  among 
those  most  interested  in  and  most  intimately  responsible 
for  the  drama's  welfare. 

First,  we  must  realize  that,  even  though  our  own  history 
of  the  stage  is  scarcely  more  than  a  century  old,  our  touch 
with  the  past  is  becoming  slighter,  since  the  veteran  actors  — 
the  generations  that  knew  Booth  and  Forrest  and  Wallack 
and  Davenport  —  are  passing  away  month  by  month. 
Second,  it  is  most  encouraging  to  note  that,  with  the  general 
interest  being  manifested  by  the  public  in  the  stage,  as  a 
world  of  glitter  and  romance,  there  is  taking  place  a  cor 
responding  increase  in  the  knowledge  of  those  who  go  to 
the  theatre,  and  who  concern  themselves  with  the  growth 
and  history  of  the  drama  itself. 

Behind  every  urgent  need  there  are  to  be  found  the  social 
reasons  for  that  need  —  the  facts,  for  instance,  that  have 
made  some  of  us  aware  of  the  necessity  for  a  definite  library, 
dealing  adequately  with  the  drama,  whatever  its  phase. 
There  are  tremendous  gaps  in  the  chain  of  dramatic  history 
to  be  supplied  with  connecting  links  —  and  every  death, 


THE  NEED  FOR  A  DRAMATIC  LIBRARY    343 

every  auction  sale,  every  isolated  bequeathment,  makes  it 
more  difficult  finally  for  the  connection  to  be  consummated, 
once  the  proper  endowment  is  secured  for  the  cause. 

In  libraries  of  a  general  character,  there  may  be  many 
books  concerning  the  drama,  but  they  are  of  miscellaneous 
importance,  and  are  usually  selected  to  satisfy  the  demands 
of  the  general  reader.  It  is  not  indifference  which  causes 
this  condition,  but  the  peculiar  function  of  the  special  circu 
lating  library  which  governs  the  selection.  Even  a  uni 
versity  library  cannot  discriminate  in  its  courses,  as  they 
relate  to  the  supply  of  reference  books,  and  no  one  should 
grant  that  it  has  the  right  to  do  so.  Therefore,  the  uni 
versity  does  not  attempt  to  keep  pace  with  any  other  than 
an  academic  interest  in  the  literature  of  the  drama.  Much 
of  this  current  material  appears  too  trivial,  indeed,  is  in 
tended  as  nothing  more  than  passing  comment,  and  therefore 
is  not  worthy  of  preservation. 

Still,  this  general  attention  is  not  what  we  are  at  present 
concerned  with.  We  are  seeking  to  found  some  centre,  to 
suggest  some  means  of  appropriation,  whereby  a  dramatic 
library,  individualized  and  functionating  alone  and  apart 
from  any  general  Public  Library,  yet  open  to  the  public, 
may  be  placed  in  a  position  to  become  the  treasure-house  for 
all  written  or  printed  matters  pertaining  to  the  theatre  in 
its  many  and  varied  aspects. 

Such  an  institution  must  not  be  of  trivial  or  of  uncertain 
foundation;  there  must  be  a  strong  promise  of  perpetuity 
in  it  before  donors  will  entrust  their  rarities  to  its  keeping. 
The  late  Bronson  Howard  had  this  thought  in  mind  when, 
after  bequeathing  his  working  library  to  the  Dramatists 
Club,  of  which  he  was  the  founder,  he  added  the  proviso  that 
should  the  Club,  through  any  unforeseen  circumstances, 
cease  to  exist,  the  collection  —  always  to  be  individualized 
as  "The  Bronson  Howard  Collection  for  American  Dram- 


344  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

atists "  —  should  be  transferred  to  the  Library  of  Columbia 
University,  which  should  likewise  be  entitled  to  the  interest 
on  five  thousand  dollars  for  its  further  increase.  Thus  was 
it  that  Bronson  Howard,  in  another  way,  added  to  his 
deserved  title  of  "Dean  of  the  American  Drama." 

Now,  there  is  only  one  unfortunate  circumstance  attached 
to  this  gift;  the  club  enriched  thereby  is  a  private  organi 
zation,  and  while,  through  special  privilege,  it  might  be  con 
sulted,  there  is  certain  restraint  upon  its  wide  usage  by 
the  public.  In  the  same  manner,  The  Players  is  loath  to 
make  its  collection  accessible  in  a  general  way,  and  only 
by  card  from  a  member  may  one  enjoy  the  privilege  of  a 
library  of  books  marked  more  by  their  associative  value 
than  by  the  wise  standard  of  their  choice. 

Rare  books  concerning  the  theatre  are  being  indiscrim 
inately  sold.  To  the  research  worker  it  seems  penny  wise 
and  pound  foolish  to  wait  for  the  day  when  some  one  might 
endow  a  dramatic  library.  Every  collection  gathered  by 
a  fastidious  manager  or  by  an  intelligent  actor,  which  is 
placed  under  the  auctioneer's  hammer,  loosens  our  hold  upon 
volumes  of  intrinsic  value.  I  speak  from  actual  experience; 
I  have  seen  the  gaps,  and  sensed  the  consequent  necessities. 
And  there  is  no  reason  why  the  dramatic  profession  itself 
should  not  establish  such  a  foundation  fund,  and  through 
its  own  initiative  see  the  venture  become  a  permanent  fact. 

Collections  must  be  preserved  intact,  and  not  share  the 
fate  of  Augustin  Daly's  books  that  were  scattered  to  isolated 
bibliophiles  and  idle  curio  hunters.  By  rights,  such  a  library 
should  have  been  saved  and  perpetuated  under  the  original 
owner's  name.  It  was  out  of  the  question  for  the  New 
York  Public  Library  to  become  the  purchaser,  for  appropri 
ations  would  not  have  allowed  such  "extravagance."  Any 
way,  however  adequate  the  New  York  Public  Library,  the 
Astor,  Lenox,  and  Tilden  collections  combined,  may  be  in 


THE  NEED  FOR  A  DRAMATIC  LIBRARY    315 

drama,  I  do  not  care  to  see  a  dramatic  library  lost  amidst 
other  collections,  and  shut  off  directly  from  the  stream  of 
life  which  should  give  it  greatest  energy. 

New  York's  Public  Library,  even  in  its  present  state  of 
dramatic  incompleteness,  does  not  quite  realize  the  riches  it 
already  has,  such  richness  as  the  Beck  collection  of  plays,  nor  is 
there  an  expert  —  and  by  that  I  do  not  mean  a  book  gatherer 
merely,  but  a  man  who  knows  something  specifically  about 
drama  —  who  is  able  to  meet  you  with  a  specialist's  knowl 
edge,  other  than  that  which  he  hastily  gathers  from  a  rather 
inadequate  card  in  the  catalogue  drawer. 

In  fact,  as  soon  as  a  dramatic  library  is  assured,  I  should 
like  every  social  institution  around  it,  which  has  either 
designedly  or  accidentally  become  possessor  of  rare  books  on 
the  theatre  in  its  every  phase,  to  hand  these  books  over  to 
the  special  library.  I  would  rob  Peter  to  pay  Paul  in  this 
respect,  provided  both  were  assured  children  of  the  public. 
This  specializing  under  such  generous  conditions  is  the  next 
step  in  the  development  of  American  libraries.  But,  as  far 
as  drama  is  concerned,  we  are  somewhat  late.  In  the  future, 
when  our  increasing  interest  in  the  playhouse  has  turned 
us  into  a  nation  of  theatre-goers,  proud  of  the  institution, 
how  many  will  wonder  what  has  become  of  the  libraries  of 
Daly,  Palmer,  John  Brougham,  William  E.  Burton,  and 
countless  others? 

As  an  instance  of  the  fate  of  theatrical  books:  In  the 
Daly  collection  was  MorrelFs  "Life  of  George  Holland." 
From  a  slim  volume  the  manager  had,  with  his  numerous 
additional  pictures,  letters,  notices,  and  manuscript  notes, 
made  two  thick  books.  Joseph  Holland,  son  of  the 
comedian,  was  on  the  road  at  the  time  of  the  sale,  and  wired 
his  order  to  New  York.  But  he  was  too  late,  and  assiduous 
inquiry  failed  to  reveal  into  whose  hands  this  personal  treasure 
actually  passed.  Had  there  been  a  dramatic  library,  such 


346  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

an  historical  record  would  have  been  preserved  from  the 
obscurity  which  now  envelops  it. 

At  one  time  I  had  occasion  to  gather  certain  facts  con 
cerning  Dion  Boucicault;  his  son  very  graciously  assisted 
me  from  the  mass  of  original  material  he  possesses.  It  was 
well-nigh  impossible,  notwithstanding,  for  our  combined 
efforts  to  frame  a  concise,  accurate  bibliography  of  Bouci- 
cault's  plays.  This  was  partly  due  to  the  Irish  writer's 
prolific  pen  and  to  his  genius  for  constructing  dramas  that 
often  never  saw  the  form  of  whole  manuscripts.  It  was 
equally  as  much  due  to  the  fact  that  neither  of  us  knew 
exactly  where  to  turn  for  further  investigation.  A  library, 
properly  endowed,  and  under  wise  guidance,  would  have 
facilitated  such  investigation. 

Another  need  —  and  this  a  vital  one.  As  an  investigator, 
where  am  I  to  turn  to  find  the  farces  of  Charles  Hoyt  in 
accessible  form,  or  to  study  the  plays  of  James  A.  Herne, 
Steele  Mackaye,  Henry  De  Mille,  and  others?  Some  of 
these  authors  are  at  times  represented  in  that  undoubtedly 
serviceable,  though  ghastly  and  inaccurate,  edition  pub 
lished  by  French,  but  often  they  are  not  the  best  of  the 
dramas,  which  later  are  destined  to  remain  in  manuscript. 

With  few  exceptions,  whenever  I  have  applied  iirectly  to 
the  families  possessing  the  "  originals,"  I  have  met  with  un 
failing  courtesy,  and  with  generous  interest.  But  what  of 
the  future?  There  should  be  a  dramatic  repository  for 
original  manuscripts,  made  accessible  to  the  student  of 
drama.  This  lack  was  a  possible  reason  for  Professor  Wen 
dell's  ignoring  of  the  American  ^  drama  in  his  "  Literary 
History  of  America."  Otherwise,  we  see  no  excuse  for  his 
neglect  of  Howard  and  Herne  and  Fitch.  If  the  Dramatists 
Club  does  not  see  fit  to  make  it  a  requirement  that  a  play, 
properly  protected,  be  printed,  even  as  a  university  requires 
a  thesis  to  be  in  book  form,  before  granting  a  degree;  if 


Photo.   f>y  Morrison 


CHARLES  HOYT 


THE  NEED  FOR  A  DRAMATIC  LIBRARY    347 

an  organization  such  as  the  Dunlap  Society  had  to  die  for 
lack  of  proper  support,  —  then  a  typewritten  copy  of  the 
manuscript  should  be  deposited  in  a  recognized  place  which 
guarantees  its  protection  and  assures  its  perpetuation  in 
literary  form.  There  is  danger  of  losing  our  best  specimen 
otherwise.  I  had  but  just  returned  the  manuscripts  of 
James  A.  Herne's  "Griffith  Davenport"  and  "Margaret 
Fleming,"  when  Mrs.  Herne's  country  home  was  destroyed 
by  fire,  and  these  only  copies  of  the  best  examples  of  the 
dramatist's  art  were  irrevocably  destroyed.  Had  a  definite 
literary  museum  for  the  drama  been  established,  there  would 
have  been  some  incentive  for  the  Herne  family  to  have 
established  a  Herne  collection  for  the  enrichment  of  the 
theatre.  Were  this  policy  adopted,  it  would  give  keen 
pleasure  to  see  the  name  of  Clyde  Fitch  attached,  in  such  a 
dignified  manner,  to  the  literature  of  dramatic  tradition. 
In  fact,  nothing  more  appropriate  could  be  than  that  a  Fitch 
Memorial  Collection  should  be  made  available,  for  instance, 
in  New  York,  a  city  which  he  so  well  represented  in  his  plays. 

There  is  something  stingingly  true  in  Burke's  utterance, 
put  in  the  mouth  of  his  Rip  Van  Winkle:  "Are  we  so  soon 
forgot  when  we  are  gone?"  Players  are  human  and  die, 
while  their  sons  come  into  their  heritage,  possessing  all  the 
tangible  evidences  of  a  recorded  tradition  in  the  form  of 
manuscripts,  letters,  and  printed  data.  It  is  not  to  be  ex 
pected  that  they  will  lend  to  everyone  what  records  they 
possess,  yet  it  is  not  too  wild  a  speculation  to  believe  that 
they  would  willingly  donate  to  a  dramatic  library  what 
ever  books,  papers,  or  personalia  they  owned  which  might 
hold  some  public  interest  and  some  future  value. 

Of  what  should  a  dramatic  library  consist?  It  is  not  so 
simple,  as  at  first  might  seem,  to  limit  the  field,  for,  more 
than  any  other  art,  the  drama  embraces  so  much  that  is 
mere  accessory,  and  calls  upon  all  other  arts  for  aid.  Bui, 


348  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

beginning  with  a  general  division,  there  are  three  essen 
tial  classifications:  Historical,  Theoretical,  and  Practical. 
Neither  of  these,  as  an  actual  fact,  is  distinct,  but  the  three 
overlap,  as  all  things  do  in  nature.  In  the  first  of  these 
divisions  there  should  be  placed  (1)  the  lives  of  the  players, 
and  of  all  those  connected  with  the  stage  in  any  way;  (2) 
the  stage  history  of  plays;  (3)  the  record  of  performances 
and  the  preservation  of  programs;  (4)  collections  of  pic 
tures  and  plans,  together  with  (5)  the  histories  of  theatres 
as  homes  for  the  acted  drama.  There  would  likewise  be 
made  available  (6)  complete  bibliographies  of  all  topics 
likely  to  be  of  immediate  service  to  specialists. 

In  the  second  should  be  gathered  books  of  a  critical  cast, 
treating  (1)  of  the  drama  and  its  evolution,  (2)  of  the  plays 
in  their  construction,  (3)  of  the  dramatists  and  critics  in 
relation  to  their  theories  and  practice,  (4)  of  characters  and 
their  various  interpretations,  in  such  style  as  is  suggested 
in  the  Variorum  Shakespeare,  and  finally  (5)  of  the  drama 
and  its  place  in  society. 

In  the  third  division  should  be  gathered  (1)  every  detail 
which  bears  upon  the  theatre  as  a  working  proposition; 
one  should  be  able  to  obtain  suggestions  and  historical 
guidance  (2)  for  all  designs  of  costume,  and  (3)  for  particular 
furniture  or  architecture  peculiar  to  any  special  period. 
There  should  also  be  every  facility  (4)  for  tracing  the  entire 
evolution  of  the  mechanism  of  the  stage,  such  as  the  prog 
ress  of  lighting,  which  makes  for  the  practical  working  of 
illusion  before  the  "foots,"  or  without  the  "foots,"  as 
Belasco  and  Gordon  Craig  desire. 

The  Avery  Gallery,  attached  to  the  library  of  Columbia 
University,  at  present  is  the  only  satisfactorily  equipped 
architectural  collection  for  the  technical  study  of  the  theatre. 
The  books  are  widely  consulted,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of 
the  authorities  in  charge,  who  are  simply  waiting  an  op- 


THE  NEED  FOR  A  DRAMATIC  LIBRARY    349 

portunity  to  cooperate  with  the  dramatic  library,  once  it 
is  securely  established  in  New  York.  Of  course,  managers 
have  their  individual  books,  but  many  works  are  difficult 
to  procure,  and  others  are  needed  only  for  momentary 
consultation. 

It  might  take  years  to  establish  such  an  institution  as 
we  imagine,  but  now  is  none  too  soon  to  begin.  One  of  the 
cherished  hopes  of  the  defunct  National  Art  Theatre  Society 
was  to  found  a  library  of  wide  scope  such  as  that  later  at 
tempted  by  the  Green  Room  Club  of  New  York  City,  in 
it  to  have  at  hand  one  of  the  largest  collections  of  dramatic 
books  ever  brought  together,  which  would  treat  of  the  theatre 
and  of  the  drama  in  every  particular. 

Where  in  New  York  City  shall  the  student  turn  to  be 
thus  supplied?  Wherever  it  behooves  him  to  wander,  he 
is  only  partly  satisfied.  If  the  Public  Library  has  one  thing, 
it  has  not  the  other,  nor  is  there  a  systematic  effort  to  keep 
up  to  date.  Even  at  the  present  time,  to  repeat,  the  Public 
Library  has  no  one  in  authority  who  is  definitely  assigned 
to  a  department  of  the  drama.  If  asked  why  they  fail  in 
this  respect,  they  will  tell  you  that  they  are  not  required  to 
specialize  in  everything.  This  may  be  a  fair  reason,  but 
it  does  not  explain  their  willingness  to  subdivide  in  classifi 
cation,  to  the  smallest  fraction,  any  scientific  literature  of 
practical  and  public  bearing. 

No  library  at  present  contains  such  an  equipment  as  we 
have  in  mind.  On  private  walls  and  in  personal  albums  I 
have  come  across  playbills,  brown  and  seared  with  age, 
recording  a  few  first  productions,  but  these  walls  and  albums 
are  scattered  and  private.  Books  on  the  drama  very  rapidly 
pass  out  of  print:  Tyrone  Power's  "Reminiscences  of  the 
30's,"  Hackett's  volume  about  "Falstaff,"  Sothern's  "Birds 
of  a  Feather,"  the  theatrical  experiences  of  such  men  as 
Smith,  who  knew  his  early  South;  of  Ludlow,  who  caught 


350  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

the  spirit  of  the  early  West.  Even  Dunlap,  Ireland,  Clapp, 
and  so  recent  an  historian  as  Allston  Brown  are  scarce  in  their 
editions.  This  is  how  the  matter  stands  in  America. 

There  is  the  academic  side  to  every  library;  there  is  like 
wise  the  practical.  Unfortunately,  as  regards  the  theatre, 
there  are  too  many  who  are  used  to  reading  about  it  in  a 
trivial  fashion  when,  both  as  an  institution  and  as  a  pro 
fession,  it  has  the  rights,  the  possibilities,  of  the  highest  art. 
Many  attempts  have  been  made  by  the  disappointed  play 
wright  to  establish  a  National  Theatre;  it  has  been  found  not 
such  an  easy  task  as  was  at  first  expected.  And  so  is  the 
problem  going  to  be  with  a  dramatic  library,  for  first  of  all  it 
must  be  remembered  that  a  dramatic  library  is  all-inclu 
sive  on  the  subject,  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  a  library;  that 
it  is  many-sided  in  its  purpose,  however  distinctive  its  name; 
that  it  has  its  student  side  —  its  evolutionary  and  revolu 
tionary  phases  —  as  well  as  its  practical  side. 

The  cry  has  been  heard  for  many  days  that  the  university 
is  too  theoretical  in  its  study  of  the  stage,  having  neglected 
the  fact  that  Moliere,  Shakespeare,  and  those  of  like  mag 
nitude,  were  primarily  practical  playwrights.  On  the  other 
hand,  in  their  turn,  the  university  theatre-goers  have  ap 
pealed  to  public  taste,  have  accused  those  in  charge  of 
the  drama's  welfare  of  being  absorbed  in  the  practical  to 
the  exclusion  of  the  artistic.  If  it  is  not  already  too  evident 
to  the  reader,  a  dramatic  library  must  be  so  equipped  as 
to  balance  the  theoretical  and  the  practical.  Even  though 
privately  organized,  it  should  be  public;  or  the  theatre  is 
public,  the  actor  in  his  professional  capacity  is  public,  and 
the  drama  in  every  detail  has  been  born  of  the  public. 

When  some  years  ago  there  was  so  much  talk  about  a 
National  Theatre,  many  were  surprised  to  find  themselves 
at  sea  about  the  word  national.  In  no  other  phase  of  creative 
art  is  the  inclusive  meaning  of  the  term  so  evident  as  in  the 


THE  NEED  FOR  A  DRAMATIC    LIBRARY   351 

drama.  More  than  any  other  form  of  human  expression, 
drama  is  comparative,  for  in  all  countries  it  has  many  ele 
ments  in  common;  being  active,  it  is  imitative.  There  is 
no  such  thing  as  an  American  dramatic  library;  and  we 
are  fast  coming  to  recognize  that  the  American  drama  itself 
is  but  a  branch  of  English  drama  —  distinctive,  simply 
because  of  local  atmosphere  and  national  traits  —  since 
human  passions  are  the  same  the  world  over.  Hence,  in  a  dra 
matic  library,  we  must  consider  the  drama  as  an  organic 
whole,  and  that  means  that  the  Frenchman,  the  German, 
the  Norwegian,  the  Spaniard,  and  the  Italian  must  be  satis 
fied,  as  well  as  ourselves. 

The  first  question  for  us  to  ask  is  not:  Where  are  the  books? 
Those  will  be  forthcoming,  by  subscription  and  by  donation, 
just  so  soon  as  the  more  important  questions  of  endowment 
and  organization  are  decided.  There  must  be  no  cliques, 
as  is  so  often  the  case  in  innovations  connected  with  the 
drama;  there  must  be  no  petty  jealousies.  It  must  be  a 
public  dramatic  library,  for  actors,  managers,  and  indi 
viduals  would  more  willingly  contribute  to  such  an  institu 
tion,  founded  upon  a  broad  basis,  than  give  to  a  single  actor, 
manager,  or  individual,  as  the  heart  and  soul  of  a  casual 
library  movement,  lasting  perhaps  a  generation. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


THE   DISINTEGRATION   AND   REGENERATION   OF 
THE   THEATRE 


THE  theatre  in  America  is  passing  through  its  newspaper 
phase;  in  every  department  it  is  being  influenced  by  those 
economic  forces  which  try  to  inflate  the  market  without 
improving  the  product,  and  which  measure  the  product  as 
a  commodity  rather  than  as  an  art.  Every  industry  is 
subject  to  the  laws  of  profit  and  loss,  and  the  theatre  is  an 
ever-increasing  industry,  since  the  amusement  territory  is 
increasing.  There  is  no  concentration  which  would  make 
New  York  the  theatrical  centre  in  the  way  that  London  is 
the  hub  of  the  United  Kingdom. 

Only  by  the  combining  of  theatrical  interests  in  the  hands 
of  a  few  dictators  has  the  theatre  settled  into  some  orderly 
adjustment,  exchanging  independence  of  selection  on  the 
part  of  the  small  manager  and  of  the  actor,  for  certain 
salaried  assurance.  The  theatrical  interests  have  largely 
been  held  in  New  York,  although  Chicago  is  increasing  in 
importance,  while  the  road  has  accepted  what  it  could  get, 
the  local  manager  being  only  a  dependent,  with  no  incentive 
or  means  to  give  his  public  what  they  want  other  than  what 
the  Syndicate  might  allow  them. 

The  history  of  the  Theatrical  Trust  is  hardly  different  from 
the  growth  of  any  other  trust,  save  in  respect  to  the  person 
alities  of  the  men  behind  the  combination.  The  magnates 


DISINTEGRATION   AND   REGENERATION    353 

who  govern  Wall  Street  know  their  trade  down  to  the  smallest 
detail;  they  know  the  men  with  whom  they  have  to  deal, 
and  they  are  quick  to  measure  the  risk.  The  same  may  be 
said  for  the  theatrical  manager.  But  the  extraordinary 
business  man  exceeds  the  exceptional  theatre  man  in  this 
large  respect:  he  understands  the  way  the  country  is  going; 
he  has  his  hand  on  the  pulse  of  business  conditions  at  their 
greatest  energy;  he  knows  how  the  people  are  thinking 
on  public  affairs.  The  theatre-manager  has  no  such  pene 
tration;  he  launches  his  individual  enterprises  as  a  gamble, 
and  depends  upon  the  physical  resources  of  theatricalism 
to  "boost"  his  product. 

The  history  of  the  men  who  constitute  the  Trust  is  the  same 
in  each  case.  Their  one  claim  to  serious  consideration, 
outside  of  the  sphere  of  menace  to  an  art,  is  the  fact  that, 
having  seen  an  opportunity  to  place  art  upon  a  sound  com 
mercial  basis,  they  combined  with  sufficient  foresight  to 
corner  the  theatrical  market.  What  they  wrere  not  able  to 
observe  was  that,  however  sound  the  commercial  basis,  art  was 
still  art,  and  that,  while  les  affaires  sont  les  affaires,  human 
nature  is  human  nature.  This  fact  alone  would  assuredly 
betray  them  in  the  end. 

We  have  heard  much  of  the  commercial  theatre,  but  if 
we  stop  to  think,  why  should  not  a  theatre  be  commercial? 
For  the  play  which  does  not  draw  is  not  acceptable  to  the 
people,  and  while  the  box-office  should  not  limit  the  art,  at 
least  the  art  should  not  hold  the  box-office  in  contempt, 
since  herein  is  worldly  measure  of  its  own  excellence.  The 
weak  spot  in  the  theatrical  situation  is  not  the  commercial 
theatre,  but  the  business  methods  of  those  behind  it;  and 
the  business  methods  proclaim  the  man. 

Judged  by  all  business,  large  enterprises  must  be  organ 
ized,  and  organization  is  either  scrupulous  or  not  scrupulous. 
The  men  behind  the  Trust  were  in  it  for  profits,  and  having 


354  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

launched  enterprises,  they  had  to  make  these  enterprises 
sell.  To  do  this,  they  found  it  necessary  to  control  the 
amusement  arteries  of  the  country.  Thus,  audiences  either 
had  to  take  the  food  they  found  or  else  go  without.  This 
blockading  system  was  reached  through  a  booking  agency, 
whereby  time  assignments  were  distributed  for  attractions 
at  the  pleasure  of  the  dictators  and  on  the  payment  of  certain 
fees.  Once  under  operation,  this  group  of  men,  known  as 
the  Theatre  Trust,  or  Theatrical  Syndicate,  practically  became 
inquisitorial  in  its  policy,  tampering  even  with  the  independ 
ent  opinion  of  the  press. 

Now  was  the  time  to  prove  the  personality  of  the  men,  to 
measure  their  attitude  toward  art,  to  realize  their  unfitness 
to  the  full.  They  found  the  theatre  business  precarious,  and 
after  a  fashion  they  placed  the  finances  on  a  basis  of  equilib 
rium.  But  in  return,  the  drama  had  to  sacrifice  all  that 
conduced  to  the  maintenance  of  its  health  as  an  art  and  as 
a  civic  force.  These  men  were  "in"  for  the  money,  and  so 
skilful  was  their  generalship  that  they  told  the  North,  South, 
East,  and  West  what  they  must  have,  whether  they  would 
or  no.  Salaries  were  assured,  but  voices  were  silenced,  and 
there  was  no  say  in  the  theatrical  world  save  that  of  the 
Trust. 

Then  arose  an  opposition,  the  chief  significance  of  which 
was  that  it  did  oppose.  Cut  of  the  same  stuff,  yet  dissatis 
fied  with  its  stock,  this  new  combination  grew  because  the 
time  was  ripe,  and  because  there  was  enough  public  opinion 
in  the  air  to  father  its  growth.  Factions  kept  coming  its  way, 
from  the  South  and  from  the  West,  while  new  theatres  at 
significant  stations  in  the  theatrical  territory  began  to  fall 
away  from  the  control  of  the  octopus.  Yet,  despite  the 
disintegration  brought  about  by  this  condition  of  affairs, 
we  have  yet  to  see  whether  or  not  we  have  on  our  hands 
more  than  one  octopus.  The  meaning  of  this  insurgency 


DISINTEGRATION  AND  REGENERATION    355 

in  the  theatre  was  nevertheless  health-giving,  or  at  least 
held  promises  of  renewed  hope.  For,  let  it  here  be  said  that, 
after  all,  a  manager's  business  is  dependent  upon  the  will  of 
the  people,  however  much  he  may  dictate  terms.  They  like 
what  they  like,  and  just  as  soon  as  they  discriminate  in 
their  liking,  the  manager's  standard  will  have  to  change. 
If  good  plays  draw,  the  theatres  will  want  good  plays. 
Whether  those  at  the  head  have  sufficient  judgment  to  know 
a  good  thing  when  they  see  it,  is  a  matter  of  doubt.  But 
the  commercial  theatre  has  a  perfect  right  to  vend  mediocre 
musical  comedies,  if  the  people  persist  in  wanting  them. 

As  far  as  the  Trust  is  concerned,  all  this  time,  art,  the 
supreme  cause  of  the  theatre,  the  life  expression  of  the 
people,  was  languishing  beneath  an  ignorance  of  its  nature. 
Plays  were  manufactured  for  particular  "stars,"  and  these 
actors,  instead  of  the  drama,  were  featured  as  the  drawing 
attractions.  The  dramatized  novel  and  musical  comedy 
monopolized  the  boards.  Those  who  were  not  in  the  game, 
and  those  who  refused  subjection,  suffered  on  the  road.  Mr. 
Belasco,  booking  through  the  Trust,  was  denied  time  at  St. 
Louis  for  "The  Darling  of  the  Gods"  during  the  Exposition, 
while  the  opposition  rushed  its  own  "  The  Japanese  Nightin 
gale"  into  the  breach.  Mrs.  Fiske,  unwilling  to  come  to 
terms,  had  to  act  in  music  halls  and  second-rate  houses, 
while  Mme.  Bernhardt  carried  with  her  a  stage  and  a  circus 
tent.  In  the  Southern  circuit,  the  small  manager  was  prac 
tically  nothing  more  than  a  janitor,  who  received  no  con 
cessions  and  who  could  adopt  no  house  policy.  The 
situation  was  chaotic.  Actors  like  Richard  Mansfield  and 
Francis  Wilson,  who  had  been  among  the  first  to  oppose 
strenuously  the  dictatorial  policy,  had,  one  by  one,  to  come 
to  terms. 

Through  publicity,  ground  was  prepared  for  the  oppo 
sition.  The  "open  door  "  cry  was  an  excellent  slogan,  and  one 


356  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

in  accord  with  popular  sentiment.  An  independent  policy 
was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  right  for  any  manager, 
irrespective  of  whether  or  not  he  was  a  member  of  a  trust, 
to  "book"  his  attraction  in  any  town  possessing  an  inde 
pendent  theatre.  This  free  trade  even  admitted  of  the  op 
position  party  asking  for  "time"  in  its  rival's  houses.  For 
a  while,  this  will  have  the  appearance  of  healthy  compe 
tition,  but  as  events  are  transpiring,  there  is  every  reason 
to  believe  that  the  two  will  coalesce,  and  become  more 
powerful  than  ever. 

Meanwhile,  nevertheless,  the  theatre  has  been  affected 
by  changing  conditions,  mental  and  economic.  The  drama, 
as  a  subject  of  popular  consideration,  is  being  more  sanely 
discussed,  and  the  type  of  play,  closely  in  touch  with  the 
newspaper,  reflects  a  different  order  of  interests.  Public 
agitation  against  old  methods  of  management  has  made 
opportune  another  slogan  about  an  endowed  theatre,  a 
civic  playhouse,  a  memorial  auditorium,  wherein  might  be 
perpetuated  the  real  classics  of  dramatic  art  —  away  from 
the  blighting  touch  of  commercialism.  But  even  here,  the 
popular  conception  is  wrong.  Endowment  on  any  basis 
whatsoever  does  not  permit  the  manager  to  disregard 
popular  demand;  it  only  allows  a  certain  margin  of  risk 
and  does  not  require  an  immediate  return  on  the  investment. 
It  does  not  say,  "Lose";  but  it  assures  the  manager  sup 
port  where  there  has  been  failure  in  a  judicious  cause. 

The  one  danger  of  independence,  in  the  commercial  sense, 
lies  in  the  sudden  appearance  of  numberless  mushroom 
managers.  Though  we  do  not  see  it  plainly  at  present,  the 
actor  will  eventually  find  that  salaries  will  decrease,  and 
demands  on  his  part  will  fail  to  possess  their  former  value. 
There  will  come  a  general  slump  in  the  market  of  stipend, 
and  while  this  may  aid  in  the  establishment  of  stock  com 
panies,  it  will  not  guarantee,  as  the  Trust  did,  that  a  company 


DISINTEGRATION  AND  REGENERATION    357 

in  its  circuit  through  the  country  will  not  be  left  high  and 
dry  somewhere  in  the  deserts  of  Arizona. 

In  other  words,  the  disintegration  of  the  theatre,  in  spite 
of  the  efficacy  of  free  trade,  will  be  attendant  with  dangers. 
It  might  degenerate  into  every  playwright  being  his  own 
manager,  just  as  there  is  an  economic  possibility  of  every 
author  having  to  pay  for  the  publication  of  his  own  book. 
Charles  Klein  has  affiliated  himself  in  a  business  way  with 
the  Author's  Producing  Company;  he  prefers  to  have  this 
organization  present  Charles  Klein's  play  than  to  have 
announced  on  the  billboards  Henry  B.  Harris's  new  play 
by  Charles  Klein  (in  small  type).  The  "  open  door"  affords 
an  ample  opportunity  for  the  new  playwright  to  procure  a 
hearing;  it  widens  the  market,  and  increases  the  possibility 
of  a  production.  But  it  lacks  concentrated  energy;  it  is 
wanting  in  the  assurances  of  stability. 

Nor  has  the  "  open  door "  policy  prevented  Charles  Froh- 
man  from  cornering  the  market  in  English  playwrights,  as 
certain  publishers  have  cornered  certain  authors  and  illus 
trators  for  their  exclusive  use.  It  is  all  in  the  game  of  busi 
ness  competition.  Mr.  Frohman,  strange  to  say,  now  finds 
himself  in  a  peculiar  position;  he  has  the  plays  and  he  has 
not  sufficient  theatres  in  which  to  present  them.  The 
Shuberts,  by  an  almost  phenomenal  ability  to  procure  realty 
support,  and  by  their  persistent  policy  of  fighting  through 
the  medium  of  a  newspaper  which  they  founded  for  this 
express  purpose,  have  weakened  the  territorial  influence 
of  the  old  Theatrical  Trust.  In  return,  they  have  not  suc 
ceeded  in  inspiring  confidence  as  to  their  own  intentions. 

This  disintegration  of  the  theatre,  therefore,  points  to 
a  step  which  is  very  evident  to  those  most  desirous  of  honest 
intent.  The  Syndicate  faction  assuredly  placed  the  theatre 
on  a  business  basis,  as  I  have  indicated;  but  they  tampered 
with  the  vital  organ  of  the  corporation,  and  became  dicta- 


358  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

torial  in  their  booking  of  time,  demanding  excessive  terms 
wherever  they  wished  commercially  to  make  a  production 
impracticable  in  a  neighborhood  they  themselves  desired. 
There  is  now  an  essential  need  for  a  dramatic  clearing-house 
which  will  ensure  for  the  theatre  business  the  same  confi 
dence  and  the  same  stability  which  the  New  York  Clearing- 
House  does  for  the  banks.  A  man's  business  is  his  own, 
but  when  he  undertakes  to  serve  as  middleman  for  another, 
then  he  subjects  himself  to  ethical  responsibility. 

Another  thing  is  to  be  said  for  the  Theatrical  Trust,  how 
ever  wrong  it  may  have  been  in  its  business  methods :  there 
was  an  efficiency  about  its  work  that  was  due  entirely  to  the 
experience  of  its  theatre  officials.  The  principle  of  its  book 
ing  system  is  excellent;  its  advance  agents  are  keen  and  alive. 
Nor  can  there  be  much  fault  found  with  its  railroad  ar 
rangements.  Only  when  the  theatre  began  to  disintegrate 
did  one  detect  a  laxity  in  management,  due  very  largely 
to  the  haste  with  which  productions  were  thrown  upon  the 
road,  and  to  the  calibre  of  the  man  sent  ahead  of  the  "  show." 
However  ignorant  the  officials  governing  theatrical  affairs, 
they  were  sufficiently  wise  to  bring  to  their  aid  cleverness 
from  the  outside.  They  took  newspaper  men  as  their  press- 
agents  and  paid  them  large  salaries  to  pursue  a  course  that 
has  well-nigh  been  the  undoing  of  dramatic  criticism  in  this 
country. 

For  the  one  corrective  of  the  theatre  is  the  publicity  which 
is  given  to  it  in  our  papers.  The  theatre-manager  assures 
his  press  representative  an  authoritative  position,  from 
which  vantage  ground  he  seeks  to  establish  a  chain  of  papers, 
willing  to  print  any  news  emanating  from  the  theatre  office. 
This -eagerness  to  accept  "copy"  given  freely,  has  been 
largely  responsible  for  the  attitude  assumed  by  the  manager 
in  his  demand  that  dramatic  criticism  in  no  way  be  allowed 
to  conflict  with  the  positive  effect  of  his  advertising. 


DISINTEGRATION  AND   REGENERATION    359 

This  struggle  is  wrong,  but  it  may  be  easily  attributable 
to  the  unofficial  character  of  the  theatre  critic's  work.  The 
papers  are  not  careful  in  their  appointment  of  well-trained 
men  for  the  position.  And  we  need  such  men  in  this  period 
of  disintegration.  It  is  usually  argued,  and  rightly,  that  the 
attractions  of  the  "pass"  are  too  great  to  confine  the  privi 
lege  to  one  person;  the  advantages  of  advertising  are  too 
evident  to  sacrifice  them  to  the  whim  of  one  person's  idea. 
The  press-agent's  position  is  more  sharply  defined  than  that 
of  the  dramatic  critic;  he  is  not  handicapped;  he  may  go 
the  limit,  and  he  does  so  cleverly. 

Another  aspect  that  has  aided  in  the  disintegration  of  the 
theatre  is  the  character  of  the  outside  forces  which  have 
detracted  from  the  resources  of  the  legitimate  theatre. 
First,  the  vaudeville  houses  have  organized  themselves  into 
a  Trust  as  potent  as  that  of  the  straight  houses;  second, 
the  moving-picture  interests  have  combined  so  thoroughly 
as  to  threaten  theatre  business  on  the  road;  and  finally, 
so  many  theatres  are  being  erected  in  the  large  cities,  notably 
in  New  York,  that  they  cannot  be  guaranteed  sufficient  sup 
port  by  the  assurance  of  adequate  demand  or  of  worthy 
supply.  In  other  words,  the  economics  of  the  theatre,  having 
passed  through  the  stage  of  experimentation  and  organi 
zation,  need  to  be  studied  with  wisdom  and  forethought. 

I  cannot  see  where  the  "  open  door  "  policy  is  productive  of 
large  and  wholesome  results,  per  se.  It  is,  of  course,  more 
honest  by  far  to  have  all  doors  open  than  to  work  in  the 
dark  and  with  a  cut- throat  policy  at  hand.  But  there  still 
remains  the  problem  of  personality,  of  manhood,  in  the 
theatrical  business.  The  situation  is  quite  similar  to  that 
of  politics:  a  better  class  of  men  must  be  drawn  into  the 
business,  even  as  they  must  be  drawn  into  the  civic  life  of 
the  people.  It  is  not  enough  that  we  have  an  organization; 
each  man  must  be  of  the  highest  quality.  It  is  not  enough 


360  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

that  plays  be  produced  in  order  to  fill  the  increasing  number 
of  theatres;  the  producer  must  be  instinct  with  art.  The 
Theatrical  Trust  gave  us  an  excellent  shell;  the  soul  has  yet 
to  be  supplied. 

The  disintegration  of  the  theatre  has  shown  us  the  im 
minent  dangers  of  theatrical  organization.  There  are  two 
phases  of  the  business:  the  ledger  side  and  the  art  side. 
These  should  be  separate  in  working  process,  and  the  former 
should  not  limit  the  latter,  even  though  art  should  have 
regard  for  the  box-office.  The  crying  need  of  the  theatre 
at  present  is  for  a  dramatic  clearing-house,  and  for  a  different 
quality  of  art  which  flourishes  upon  a  different  spirit  of 
organization.  The  outward  form  will  be  very  much  the 
same  as  it  is  now.  We  shall  see  that  the  theatre  is  disinte 
grating  in  order  that  it  may  be  more  closely  and  more  soundly 
organized  in  the  light  of  its  excellences  and  of  its  failings. 


II 

I  believe  that  the  theatre  has  much  to  contend  with  in  the 
increasing  disillusionment  of  its  audiences.  A  large  asset 
in  the  appreciation  of  a  play  consists  in  a  naive  acceptance 
of  its  papier  mache  and  of  its  convention.  There  was  a  time 
when  this  was  very  real  to  all  of  us,  when  we  did  not  care 
whether  thunder  came  from  a  tin  sheet  or  the  patter  of  rain 
from  the  rattle  of  peas  in  a  pan.  The  press-agent  has  at  last 
waked  himself  up  to  his  great  sin  of  commission :  that  in  his 
publicity  work  he  has  opened  the  doors  of  wonder  too  wide, 
and  has  shown  the  miracle  in  shirt-sleeves.  In  the  regener 
ation  of  the  drama,  one  of  the  first  things  will  be  to  bring 
back  the  old-fashioned  curiosity  of  audiences. 

This  will  mean  that  the  keen  virtue  of  imagination  will 
have  to  be  cultivated.  When  we  criticise  the  paucity  of  the 
Elizabethan  stage  with  its  paper  signs,  or  of  the  mystery- 


DISINTEGRATION   AND   REGENERATION    361 

play  platform  with  its  bowl  of  water  for  the  sea,  wre  discount 
the  responsiveness  of  an  audience,  whose  education  may 
not  have  been  as  general  as  ours,  but  whose  minds  were 
more  active  and  more  sensitive  to  mere  suggestion.  So 
rapidly  has  illusion  deserted  us,  and  so  surprisingly  have 
the  mechanical  excellences  of  the  theatre  increased  that,  in 
order  to  retain  the  shadow  of  "make-believe,"  audiences 
demand  settings  which  materially  decrease  the  manager's 
chances  for  large  profits. 

Such  expenditure  is  warranted  in  spectacular  pieces  like 
"Ben-Hur"  and  "The  Shepherd  King,"  where  the  plays 
themselves  had  attractive  appeal.  But  scenery-  can  no 
longer  prop  a  weak  drama,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the 
people  are  at  last  beginning  to  know  something  of  the  art 
of  the  theatre.  To  a  certain  degree,  the  press-agent  has 
been  responsible  for  this.  Not  that  his  journalism  has  lost 
any  of  its  advertising  quality,  but  he  is  becoming  more 
judicious  in  his  statements,  and  more  sparing  of  his  credu 
lous  stories.  There  has  even  been  a  change,  within  recent 
years,  as  regards  the  wild  hero-worship  which  traveled  in 
the  wake  of  the  "star"  system  —  a  hero-worship  largely 
fed  by  the  bits  of  stage  gossip  furnished  from  the  press 
department  of  every  manager's  office. 

This  condition  is  improving.  Though  the  press-agent  is 
still  primarily  an  advertiser  for  his  "show,"  he  is  smart 
enough  to  understand  that  his  audience  is  manifesting  in 
terest  in  the  technique  of  the  theatre.  The  education  which 
is  thus  taking  place  is  somewrhat  due  to  the  yearly  publica 
tion  of  popular  books  on  the  drama  by  men  who  have  knowl 
edge,  yet  are  gifted  with  an  unscholastic  style.  While  these 
volumes  expound  no  new  principles,  they  at  least  fa 
miliarize  the  public  with  those  fundamental  characteristics 
which  combine  to  make  an  excellent  play.  The  critiques 
thus  gathered  together  in  no  way  boast  of  the  literaiy 


302  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

distinction  of  the  work  of  Hazlitt,  Lamb,  or  Lewes;  but  in 
their  journalistic  stricture,  they  do  accustom  theatre-goers 
to  question  technique  in  drama  as  they  would  demand 
balance  in  art.  What  is  now  needed  in  our  criticism  is  a 
more  rigid  scrutiny  of  our  right  to  enjoy  certain  amusements, 
and  a  more  minute  examination  of  the  methods  of  the  actor 
as  a  creative  artist. 

In  other  words, — indirectly  through  the  better  class  press- 
agent;  directly  through  the  conscientious  critic;  and  partly 
through  the  publication  of  plays,  —  the  theatre  is  receiving 
an  intellectual  training  which  the  commercial  manager 
already  finds  himself  bound  to  recognize.  Audiences  are 
becoming  technicians,  despite  the  old  cry  of  the  tired  busi 
ness  man. 

The  unrest  which  marks  general  theatrical  interests,  and 
the  dearth  of  plays  which  strains  the  manager's  ingenuity, 
are  sufficient  indication  that  no  "open  door"  policy  will 
bring  immediate  relief,  even  though  it  give  the  unheard 
playwright  a  hearing  and  a  chance.  The  New  Theatre  in 
its  first  year  examined  two  thousand  manuscripts  for  prob 
ably  six  acceptances.  We  are  all  writing  plays,  but  they 
have  the  demerits  of  imitation,  and  lack  the  strength  of  the 
soil.  The  one  school  which  we  have  in  the  drama  is  in  the 
observation  of  American  conditions  —  especially  as  they 
apply  to  business  affairs.  Once  there  was  opportunity  to 
do  big  work  in  the  aspects  of  rural  life,  but  even  James  A. 
Herne  was  touched  by  a  fast  declining  melodrama  which 
soon  went  out  of  date,  even  as  the  sentiment  peculiar  to  it 
disappeared,  despite  its  splendid  odor  of  rosemary. 

In  the  regeneration  of  the  theatre,  therefore,  the  play 
wright  is  growing  to  recognize  that  his  own  citizenship 
means  something  in  the  conception  of  his  drama;  that  the 
one  original  opportunity  of  the  outward  drama,  apart  from 
the  spiritual  essence  of.it,  lies  in  the  locality  of  which  Howells, 


DISINTEGRATION  AND  REGENERATION    363 

Bret  Harte,  Octave  Thanet,  Page,  and  Cable  have  made  so 
much  in  literature.  The  scenic  idea  has  created  a  seeable 
American  drama,  but  hardly  a  readable  one  or  a  preservable 
one.  "Salomy  Jane,"  "The  Girl  of  the  Golden  West,"  "In 
Old  Kentucky,"  "Way Down  East,"  "Sag  Harbor,"  and  such 
titles  occur  to  everyone;  in  fact,  it  is  not  too  rash  to  state 
that  the  theatre,  topographically,  has  very  well  considered 
the  local  differences  of  the  country.  But  as  yet  the  activity  of 
dramatic  authorship  has  also  become  too  diffuse  —  a  char 
acteristic  of  newspaper  training,  and  showing  a  want  of  set 
purpose  other  than  to  write  something  for  the  theatre  which 
affords  large  returns  upon  the  right  thing. 

Yet  the  widespread  interest,  as  I  see  it,  will  mean  that  a 
man  properly  accustomed  to  exact  technique,  and  well- 
trained  in  the  professional  and  in  the  cultural  phases  of  his 
trade,  will  at  last  experiment  in  drawing  from  the  soil  matter 
which  is  the  essence  of  national  life.  This  consciousness 
of  the  matter  at  hand  is  not  cultivated  by  artificial  means, 
but  comes  through  necessity  from  within,  through  big  con 
viction,  through  personal  belief,  through  consuming  interest 
in  this  condition  and  in  that  type.  It  is  not  a  mere  observa 
tional,  reportorial  drama,  such  as  we  have  in  "The  Lion 
and  the  Mouse,"  or  in  "The  Gamblers."  Not  one  of  our 
American  dramatists  can  thus  far  boast  of  challenging  public 
thought  or  of  rousing  public  interest,  other  than  that  of  fic 
titious  excitement. 

Our  theatre  needs  a  body  of  ideas;  it  needs  to  reflect  in 
better  ways  the  undercurrent  of  American  life.  It  lags  be 
hind  the  newspaper  instead  of  leaping  forward  and  making 
the  newspaper  keep  up  with  it  in  civic  pride  and  in  common 
honesty.  If  we  are  given  poetic  drama,  it  has  the  scholastic 
idea  that  "Marlowe"  and  "Sappho  and  Phaon"  are  better 
than  "Hiawatha"  and  an  epic  of  wheat,  of  hemp,  or 
of  the  New  England  conscience.  If  the  play  is  social,  it 


364  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

simply  dramatizes  the  newspapers,  busying  itself  about  the 
outward  movement  of  life.  The  playwright  knows  that  he  is 
sure  of  sympathy  from  audiences  whenever  he  places  the 
warmth  of  American  character  in  contrast  with  the  artificiality 
of  foreign  social  intrigue;  hence  the  popularity  of  Booth 
Tarkington's  "The  Man  from  Home,"  and  "The  Gentleman 
from  Indiana."  He  knows  that  a  certain  representation  of 
the  stress  and  strain  of  Wall  Street  will  rouse  curiosity;  hence 
"The  Pit."  But  he  is  too  prone  to  lose  sight  of  the  ethics 
of  business  in  the  noise  of  "buncoism;"  hence  "The  Gam 
blers"  and  "Get-rich-quick  Wallingford."  That  is  the  usual 
inclination  of  the  reporter  after  a  story. 

The  lure  of  large  profits  has  been  responsible  to  a  marked 
degree  for  the  general  weakness  of  our  native  drama.  Writers 
without  technique  in  this  special  field  have  identified  the 
narrative  conversation  of  fiction  with  the  vital  dialogue 
of  the  stage,  not  realizing  that  the  structure  in  each  is  dif 
ferent.  Yet  one  cannot  help  believing  that  the  interest  of  the 
literary  man  in  the  theatre  will  affect  the  intellectual  char 
acter  of  its  future. 

But  the  literary  man  is  not  a  frequent  theatre-goer; 
whenever  he  is  detected  in  numbers  in  the  auditorium,  it  is 
safe  to  reckon  that  he  has  been  brought  there  by  a  promise, 
not  of  drama  in  the  theatrical  sense,  but  of  ideas  in  the 
literary  sense.  If  he  likes  the  ideas,  but  finds  that  critically 
the  drama  fails  to  be  drama,  he  condemns  the  theatre  and 
hastens  outside  to  deplore  the  decadence  of  the  stage. 
Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  never  could  realize  why  "  Judith  of 
Bethulia"  did  not  prove  acceptable;  he  attributed  it  to  the 
uncultivation  of  the  theatre-going  public,  rather  than  to  his 
own  failure  to  meet  some  of  the  essential  requirements  of 
drama.  Percy  Mackaye,  understanding  the  theory  of  stage 
craft,  persists  in  clogging  his  dialogue  with  sentiments  and 
allusions  wholly  unsuited  to  quick-moving  minds. 


DISINTEGRATION  AND   REGENERATION    365 

Since  this  is  the  literary  condition  of  the  drama,  it  is  safe 
to  count  the  literary  clientele  as  a  body  in  itself  dedicated 
to  the  improvement  of  the  theatre  according  to  wrong 
methods.  In  fact,  since  the  Puritan  first  lodged  his  diatribe 
against  actor  folk,  there  has  been  a  persistent  cry  for  the 
improvement  of  the  stage.  Societies  for  dramatic  betterment 
have  risen  upon  their  own  hopes  and  fallen  because  of  their 
own  mistakes.  Conditions  are  altered,  not  by  dilettanteism, 
but  by  whole  knowledge  and  sound  conviction.  Audiences 
may  organize  for  the  encouragement  of  particular  plays, 
but  the  big  public  outside  of  cliques  will  have  its  say,  and 
will  register  its  decisions  at  the  box-office.  I  have  seen 
committees  of  various  organizations  at  the  theatre,  sent  to 
report  on  the  relative  merits  of  a  play.  I  have  seen  the 
reports:  trite,  commonplace,  sweepingly  impertinent  in 
approval  or  disapproval.  The  theatre  is  not  harmed  by 
such  a  show  of  false  culture,  and  there  is  some  humor  in  the 
fact  that,  though  the  drama  is  little  influenced  by  such  osten 
tatious  intellectuality,  the  cliques  themselves  are  at  least 
being  made  to  take  themselves  and  the  drama  seriously. 
Undoubtedly  they  would  have  much  more  pleasure  if  they 
were  able,  which  they  are  not,  to  join  the  vulgar  crowd  in 
its  enjoyment.  By  their  superiority,  they  are  violating  the 
very  essential  spirit  of  the  theatre. 

Yet  I  do  not  wish  to  convey  the  idea  that  I  want  this 
connection  between  literature  and  the  theatre  to  be  so  close 
as  to  hinder  the  theatre.  Drama  is  no  handmaiden  to  lit 
erature;  it  is  the  highest  type  of  literary  expression  and  the 
most  difficult  in  which  to  excel.  The  disintegration  of  the 
theatre,  as  we  have  examined  it,  indicates  clearly  that  the 
methods  of  the  Trust  have  not  kept  the  good  play  from  its 
rightful  public,  for  since  the  talk  of  the  "open  door,"  we 
have  had  no  startling  discoveries  in  the  way  of  exceptional 
productions.  The  process  of  reorganization  shows  that  in- 


306  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

tellectual  improvement  must  be  coincident  with  the  higher 
and  more  honest  standard  of  presentation.  For  when  we 
speak  of  social  and  economic  forces  in  the  theatre,  we  speak 
of  the  drama  as  a  commodity  and  as  an  art. 


CHAPTER   XXII 
L'ENVOIE 


PRESENT-DAY  dramatic  criticism  in  America  is  not  an  art, 
but  a  pastime;  one  does  not  have  to  be  specially  trained 
for  the  position,  but  more  generally  assigned  to  the  position, 
which  is  but  another  way  of  claiming  that  a  play  is  more 
likely  to  be  reported  than  to  be  reviewed. 

There  are  legitimate  reasons  for  such  a  status,  reasons 
incontrovertible  without  a  change  in  theatre  management 
on  one  hand  and  in  journalistic  policy  on  the  other.  As 
matters  now  stand,  there  is  not  a  financial  editor  who  does 
not  believe  himself  as  well  equipped  to  render  a  decision 
upon  a  play  as  the  average  theatre  reporter  —  and  no  doubt 
he  is  right.  The  want  of  authority,  other  than  that  attached 
to  the  privilege  of  the  "pass,"  makes  of  the  general  profes 
sional  theatre-goer,  who  writes  a  column  the  morning  after, 
a  figurehead  no  less  than  a  deadhead.  And  it  is  just  this 
lack  of  understanding  as  to  what  his  province  really  is  that 
threatens  to  jeopardize  the  position  of  the  dramatic  critic, 
in  view  of  the  essential  necessity  of  the  press-agent  to  the 
theatre  as  a  business.  At  the  present  moment,  we  are 
witnessing  an  interesting  struggle  for  the  survival  of  the 
fittest;  the  press-agent  of  necessity  is  required  to  systematize 
his  business;  the  dramatic  critic,  save  in  isolated  cases, 
is  not  allowed  to  declare  his  policy. 

The  diversity  of  opinion  that  we  find  in  the  morning  paper 


368  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

after  a  "first  night"  is  more  likely  due  to  an  unpreparedness, 
a  lack  of  critical  viewpoint,  than  to  any  fundamental  logical 
difference.  And  it  is  the  lightness  with  which  the  decision 
is  rendered  that  shakes  the  confidence  of  the  reading  public. 
The  dramatic  critic  rarely  speaks  with  authority;  if  he  does, 
he  is  in  danger  of  hurting  business.  There  is  no  question 
as  to  whether  the  view  of  the  theatre  taken  by  the  city 
editor,  simply  as  a  field  for  possible  sensational  news,  does 
not  detract  from  the  dignity  of  the  critic's  own  department. 
The  city  editor's  stand  and  the  critic's  stand  are  both  legiti 
mate,  yet  they  are  far  from  being  the  same  —  or  else,  they 
should  not  be. 

The  dramatic  critic  is  not  regarded  as  a  necessity;  he 
is  generally  a  sufferance.  It  is  more  often  the  case  that  the 
editor  looks  askance  at  the  prospect  of  engaging  a  man 
who  must,  so  the  inference  runs,  be  possessor  of  a  jaded 
intellect  in  view  of  his  long  service  in  the  theatre.  The 
drama  is  the  only  art  where,  to-day,  it  is  not  a  requisite  to 
have  training  and  experience  to  render  a  decision;  where 
expert  opinion  is  discounted  in  the  face  of  the  reporter  and 
the  press-agent.  After  all,  says  the  average  theatre-goer 
to  the  critic,  it  is  your  opinion  vs.  mine.  You  report  that 
a  play  is  bad;  you  do  not  establish  the  fact  by  any  formula 
tion  of  your  opinion;  my  judgment  is  as  likely  to  be  as 
authoritative.  Because  there  is  a  large  element  of  truth  in 
what  he  says,  dramatic  criticism  is  being  threatened. 

The  requirements  of  journalism  are  more  favorable  to 
the  reporter  and  to  the  press-agent  than  to  the  critic,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  the  theatre  news  reinforces  the  ad 
vantages  of  advertising.  Those  "  official  critics  "  who  have 
attempted  to  summarize  a  week's  theatre  activity  in  a 
column  or  two  of  the  Sunday  edition  have  either  underesti 
mated  the  mental  capacity  of  their  readers,  or  else  have 
failed,  except  in  a  very  few  cases,  to  understand  that  criticism, 


L'ENVOIE  369 

as  Walkley  has  declared,  is  not  a  parasitic  art  alone,  but  a 
creative  one  as  well  —  creative  of  an  original  outlook  pro 
voked  by  the  exigencies  of  the  occasion,  but  more  naturally 
by  the  force  of  sound  conviction.  James  Huneker  is  a 
representative  of  the  right  type,  but  he  is  no  longer  a 
dramatic  critic  of  the  conventional  order;  he  is  "off  duty 
forever  "  in  the  journalistic  sense. 

Every  man,  in  his  way,  is  a  critic;  he  measures  the  capac 
ity  of  art  by  his  own  capacity  to  enjoy  art.  Hence,  there 
are  among  us  some  few  who  can  span  the  arches  of  a  master 
piece,  and  those  there  are  who  are  good  authorities  on  vaude 
ville!  But  they  are  not  equipped  as  they  should  be  with  the 
complete  understanding  that  assures  one  the  tnird  dimension 
and  gives  one  glimmering  hope  of  a  possible  fourth.  There 
are  critical  processes  which  do  not  con?u  within  the  calcula 
tions  of  the  public,  but  which  belong  distinctively  to  the  critic 
—  identification  and  detachment,  characterized  by  Le  Bon 
as  the  psychology  of  the  individual  and  of  the  crowd  — 
the  proper  relation  of  comparative  values  —  the  correct 
and  familiar  uses  of  the  factovs  in  technique  —  the  unerring 
appreciation  of  the  creative  forces  behind  art. 

Viewed  in  this  light,  the  work  of  the  dramatic  critic  is 
no  minor  task;  in  its  way  dependent  upon  a  product  out 
side  of  itself,  it  is  at  onoe  a  dictum  and  an  outlook;  it  is 
restrictive  of  a  form  and  expressive  of  an  idea;  it  is  no  sine 
cure,  but  a  responsibilicy. 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  appreciation  as  an  exact  science, 
even  though  there  a*e  recognized  standards  in  drama,  as 
there  are  in  other  art  species,  to  allow  of  Matthew  Arnold's 
definition  of  criticism.  But  it  is  preposterous  to  claim  that 
the  critic  is  so  callov  s  to  emotional  response  as  to  be  coolly 
conscious  of  a  wilful  juxtaposition  of  the  experiment  with 
the  norm.  He  must  be  a  keen  and  sympathetic  observer 
of  all  that  constitutes  life,  to  recognize  how  perfectly  or  how 


370  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

badly  the  artist  has  re-presented  life  by  means  of  its  most 
progressive,  yet  unconsecutive,  moments.  To  him  the 
playhouse,  in  its  threefold  capacity  of  business,  institution, 
and  art  museum,  becomes  one  of  the  civic  centres  for  deep 
est  realization  of  self -expression.  He  is  to  take  his  orchestra 
chair  with  a  sense  that  though  a  scholar  —  that  is,  a  workman 
with  his  tools  by  right  —  he  is  not  a  scholastic;  that,  though 
writing  for  the  morrow,  he  is  framing  opinion  beyond  the 
morrow;  that,  though  analyzing  what  he  himself  might 
not  be  able  to  do  as  well,  he  is  doing  ably  what  his  experience 
has  mad£  ^,s  second  nature  to  him.  He  sees  unerringly  and 
his  mind  is  dear.  He  knows  what  good  art  is  and  he  questions 
the  presence  of  oad  art. 

This  is  perhaps  theoretical  and  ideal,  yet  had  we  gone  to 
the  theatre  with  Aristotle,  our  classic  figure  of  a  critic,  we 
would  have  been  takeL  behind  the  simulation  of  nature  into 
a  discussion  of  the  very  nature  principles  themselves.  The 
Greeks,  as  dramatic  critics,  were  a  little  contemptuous  of 
this  reflex  life  we  call  dran  a.  In  fact,  run  your  memory 
along  the  evolution  of  criticbm  as  applied  to  the  ancient 
playhouse,  and  you  will  find  c,hat  the  attitude  is  largely 
philosophical,  and  wholly  ruled  out  of  the  present  province 
of  the  dramatic  critic.  In  other  words,  with  the  modern 
recognition  of  the  theatre  as  a  live  activity  in  the  civic  body, 
drama  has  peculiarly  become  severed  from  literature,  of 
which  it  is  a  legitimate  and  significant  part. 

Here,  then,  is  one  of  the  first  step?  in  the  rehabilitation 
of  the  dramatic  critic:  to  realize  thai,  however  journalistic 
his  career,  he  stands  primarily  for  the  dramatic  spirit  and 
secondarily  for  the  theatrical  fact,  t-e  must  claim  for  the 
theatre  its  literary  dignity  —  which  \/ill  place  bits  of  the 
striking  realism  of  Herne  by  the  side  of  a  similar  realism 
in  Howells.  It  is  peculiar  how  closely  to  the  fundamental 
philosophy  of  the  dramatic  both  Mr.  Howells  and  Mr.  James 


L'ENVOIE  371 

stand,  without  possessing  that  burning  sense  of  the  theatre 
which  should  be  an  asset  to  the  theatre  critic.  This  is  no 
doubt  due  to  the  limitation  of  the  novelist,  whose  technique 
is  different  from  that  of  the  dramatist,  a  fact  he  does  not  half 
realize  until  failure  on  the  boards  drives  it  home. 

The  critic,  therefore,  is  doubly  sensitized:  he  is  a  lover 
of  art  and  a  lover  of  life;  he  is  to  keep  them  separate  and 
yet  view  them  conjointly,  even  as  he  measures  his  individual 
impression,  his  estimate  of  the  crowd  from  without  its  circle 
of  appreciation,  and  his  impression  as  a  unit  in  that  crowd. 
His  decisions  are  not  had  by  text-book  definitions;  they  are 
realized  by  right  of  his  possession.  Of  what?  That  by  virtue 
of  which  I  am  I,  meaning  the  public  —  and  he  the  critic.  Your 
opinion  vs.  mine!  Are  the  conditions  such  as  to  warrant 
my  challenging  the  critical  authority  in  the  theatre? 

We  value  what  Henry  Arthur  Jones  writes  of  the  play 
house,  not  so  much  because  he  is  invigorating,  as  because  he 
is  sane  and  progressive  in  the  face  of  his  national  limitations. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  unwise  for  a  dramatist  to  place  himself 
in  the  position  of  a  critic,  to  furnish  the  weapons  by  which 
later  he  is  almost  invariably  wounded.  Percy  Mackaye 
has  written  a  book  measuring  democratic  tendencies  in  the 
present-day  theatre.  But  it  is  for  the  critic  to  tell  us  what 
the  drama  of  democracy  is  to  be;  the  dramatist  is  to  give 
us  the  type  if  he  can.  It  is  for  the  critic  to  analyze  wherein 
the  poetic  and  commonplace  may  be  blended  on  our  stage; 
the  dramatist  is  to  blend  the  qualities.  The  critical  faculty 
is  always  ahead  of  creative  activity,  but  our  dramatic 
reporter  seems  to  be  almost  slavishly  dependent  upon  the 
product;  he  deals  with  the  new  play  and  does  not  attempt 
to  go  behind  or  beyond  it. 

In  his  prefaces  and  in  his  dramatic  opinions,  Shaw  reveals 
a  rare  discrimination  and  a  delicious  wit;  his  essays  are 
literature  by  the  sheer  force  of  his  personality  rather  than 


372  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

because  of  the  vital  substance  of  the  individual  plays.  This 
is  the  reason  Jones  as  a  critic  is  of  more  sound  importance, 
in  that  he  reflects  tendencies,  movements,  national  feelings, 
rather  than  himself.  The  dominant  personality  of  Shaw 
is  not  the  critical  faculty,  nor  would  the  critic  be  allowed 
his  liberties.  We  accept  his  "Quintessence  of  Ibsenism" 
because  not  everyone  can  discard  Ibsen  so  impertinently 
and  give  us  instead  the  "Quintessence  of  Shaw."  But  he 
is  a  good  handbook  for  critics;  sometimes  we  question 
whether  his  critical  bravery  is  not  wholly  dependent  upon 
Irish  wit. 

Place  Shaw's  book  by  the  side  of  Walter  Eaton's  volumes 
of  American  reviews  culled  from  the  New  York  Sun  and 
other  papers:  the  one  is  brilliant,  the  other  is  excellent  and 
clever,  marred  on  the  one  hand  by  a  journalistic  intimacy  of 
style  and  colloquial  jargon,  and  on  the  other  by  a  staid  New 
England  moral  reticence  which  we  applaud,  despite  its  un- 
progressiveness.  Yet  both  Shaw  and  Eaton  exhibit  in  their 
books  the  underlying  weakness  of  the  dramatic  critic's  claim 
to  literary  permanence.  They  are  dealing  with  transitory 
stuff;  their  critical  sermons  are  founded  upon  theatrical 
quicksand;  they  outline  the  plots  of  plays  that  die  within 
a  twelvemonth. 

Therefore,  the  dramatic  critic,  by  nature  of  his  transitory 
material,  has  somehow  had  thrust  upon  him  the  reporter's 
immediate  expression.  But  the  demand  of  journalism  has 
perverted  the  function  of  dramatic  criticism  as  it  has  the 
scope  of  literary  criticism.  Among  our  newspaper  editors, 
Paul  Elmer  More  alone  has  the  opportunity  of  expressing 
himself  fully  in  the  columns  of  the  New  York  Evening  Post 
and  Nation,  using  the  essay  form.  But  the  dramatic  critic 
who,  in  the  discussion  of  an  inferior  comedy  or  a  mediocre 
farce,  should  brush  it  aside  lightly  in  his  desire  to  pay  tribute 
to  the  excellence  of  Charles  Hoyt,  would  not  only  be  coni-( 


L'ENVOIE  373 

mitting  a  breach  against  reportorial  timeliness,  but  would 
be  committing  a  breach  of  courtesy  against  the  advertising 
column.  The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  true  dramatic 
criticism  will  flourish  only  after  journalism  recognizes  its 
essential  authority. 

The  critic  and  the  press-agent  are  not  antagonistic  factors 
in  the  theatre  scheme;  the  struggle  that  is  taking  place  is 
due  entirely  to  the  fact  that  the  manager  requires  expert 
system  and  the  editor  is  not  over-anxious  for  expert  decision. 
Through  excellent  systematization,  I  have  heard  a  press- 
agent  claim  that  within  twenty-four  hours  he  could  com 
mand  the  columns  of  a  chain  of  papers  stretching  from 
coast  to  coast;  he  did  not  mean  that  he  could,  or  would, 
limit  the  expression  of  the  critic  on  any  of  these  papers,  but 
that  he  could  send  to  these  papers  sufficiently  attractive 
"dramatic  stories"  to  warrant  their  being  used  as  "copy." 
The  press-agent  is  generally  a  trained  newspaper  man;  if 
he  be  a  wise  man,  he  will  keep  within  the  limit  of  credulity; 
but  his  essential  business  is  to  create  interest  in  his  particu 
lar  "attraction."  In  our  Sunday  papers  we  have  seen  the 
discussion  of  the  race  problem,  and  we  feel  assured  that  the 
press-agent  for  Zangwill's  "The  Melting  Pot"  has  done  some 
intelligent  free  advertising.  He  has,  prompted  by  keen 
instinct,  killed  two  birds  with  one  stone;  he  has  appealed 
to  the  city  editor's  desire  for  bright,  live  "copy";  he  has 
sounded  the  fundamental  note  of  his  play. 

The  common  expression  we  hear  is :  "  Oh,  that  Js  a  press 
story. "  But  the  agent  who  courts  false  sensationalism,  who 
circulates  personalities  that  are  off  color,  who  miscalculates 
the  intelligence  of  the  newspaper  man,  is  not  typical  of  his 
class.  The  press-agent  to-day  is  a  man  of  concentrated  energy, 
with  a  ready  pen  and  a  quick  judgment.  He  must  keep  faith 
with  his  manager  and  with  the  editor.  He  must  not  try  to 
make  the  reporter  believe  that  there  is  good  fishing  in  the 


374  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

Hippodrome  tank,  yet  such  a  wild  story  is  good  advertising, 
if  used  properly. 

A  most  prominent  press-agent  has  written  to  me  of  his 
calling;  his  words,  uttered  with  authority,  are  representative 
of  his  profession.  He  says: 

"The  agent,  having  'held  down  the  dramatic  desk'  him 
self,  understands  the  honor,  pride,  and  traditions  of  the 
position,  and  is  not  likely  to  ask  absurdities  or  impossibilities. 
.  .  .  The  old-time  agent  —  the  man  with  the  high  hat, 
lightning-rod  shirt,  diamond  headlight,  and  the  general 
make-up  of  an  interlocutor  in  a  minstrel  'first  part/  .  .  . 
but  who  cannot  write  two  consecutive  grammatical  sen 
tences,  has  passed  away.  Such  a  one  now  would  be  worse 
than  useless,  except  possibly  in  the  smaller  one-night  towns 
where  glitter  and  imposing  appearance  awe  the  natives.  .  .  . 
It  is  the  man  with  ideas  who  can  write  —  he  it  is  jvho  suc 
ceeds  as  an  agent  in  the  city  or  on  the  road  to-day  —  the 
quiet,  energetic,  thinking  man  who  studies  the  style,  re 
quirements  and  policy  of  each  paper,  .  .  .  who  gives  to  the 
critic  salient  data  about  plays  and  players,  .  .  .  and  who 
leaves  the  critic  entirely  alone  when  the  latter  is  to  write 
his  opinion  of  the  performance." 

This  is  a  concise  statement  of  the  press-agent's  province; 
he  aids  the  theatre  advertising;  he  is  at  the  service  of  the 
theatre  reporter.  He  has  done  his  work  so  excellently  that 
the  manager  has  come  to  believe  that  no  statement  should 
be  printed  in  a  paper,  sufficiently  strong  to  counteract  the 
good  work  of  the  press-agent  on  the  one  hand,  or  the  force 
of  his  paid  advertising  on  the  other.  We  have  known  in  the 
course  of  theatre  history  instances  where  dramatic  critics 
have  been  removed  because  they  have  spoken  out  fearlessly; 
we  have  been  told  of  other  instances  where  managers  have 
gone  to  the  editor  with  the  demand  that  the  critic  be  re 
moved,  a  demand  reinforced  by  the  threat  of  withdrawing 


L'ENVOIE  375 

newspaper  patronage.  Is  there  a  critic  to-day  worth  the 
sacrifice  in  advertising  of  thousands  of  dollars?  Yet  the 
present  state  of  dramatic  criticism  is  due  to  a  lack  of  moral 
support  on  the  part  of  journalism. 

We  need  a  thorough  rehabilitation  of  this  profession; 
until  that  time  arrives,  we  are  safe  in  pursuing  the  policy 
of  your  opinion  vs.  mine.  It  is  the  drama  itself  that  is 
suffering  from  the  lack  of  dramatic  criticism,  not  the  public. 
Our  reporters  are  toying  with  a  serious  art;  they  are  ex 
ploiting  and  not  attempting  to  create.  But  there  is  no  deny 
ing  that  the  dramatic  critic  who  now  lacks  full  preparation, 
who  is  not  given  authority,  who  does  not  probe  further 
than  he  sees,  will  remain  the  reporter  until  he  is  liberally 
prepared,  is  clothed  in  authority  of  expression,  and  is  afforded 
the  proper  medium  for  full  creative  criticism;  until  he  is 
backed  by  his  editor. 

II 

A  dramatic  critic's  position  is  not  an  easy  one,  and  he  is 
only  on  the  safe  road  when  he  separates  the  personal  from 
the  impersonal.  For  his  opinion  of  a  product  should  in  no 
way  affect  his  opinion  of  the  man  whom  he  criticizes.  It  is 
a  difficult  problem  to  be  critical,  at  the  same  time  realizing 
that  the  personality  of  the  man  was  far  greater  than  his  art 
accomplishment.  In  the  preceding  pages,  strictures  have 
been  made  against  friends,  but  honesty  of  purpose  justifies 
the  statements.  Not  many  authors  have  the  bigness  to 
take  criticism  at  its  face  value,  no  matter  from  what  source, 
and  to  measure  its  sincerity.  In  the  working  out  of  this 
book,  however,  I  have  been  met  with  remarkable  examples 
of  simple  faith  and  cultured  courtesy.  I  look  back  upon 
my  association  with  Mr.  Howard  and  Mr.  Fitch,  and  realize 
that  though  we  sometimes  disagreed  critically,  these  men 
felt  it  worth  while  to  clear  up  their  opinions  or  mine.  I 


376  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

remember  the  serious  intensity  of  Mr.  Mackaye,  who  might 
not  agree  with  me  as  to  the  province  of  the  drama  in  a 
democracy,  but  who,  nevertheless,  accepted  my  opinion 
as  coming  with  no  other  object  than  to  sound  the  truth. 

But  as  soon  as  a  dramatic  critic  appears  between  covers 
in  an  avowed  survey  of  American  drama,  he  then  is  chal 
lenged  on  all  hands.  Some  say,  Does  he  not  realize  that  in 
Louisiana  at  one  time  there  flourished  a  Creole  drama  which 
was  not  only  written,  but  was  acted  in  a  definite  French 
theatre?  And  the  answer  comes:  Yes,  Alcee  For  tier  has 
suggested  a  rich  field  for  the  research  worker,  but  though 
here  was  a  hybrid  type  on  American  soil,  it  had  little  to  do 
with  American  drama  as  we  have  defined  it,  even  though  it 
might  have  been  inspired  by  American  incident.  The  mere 
fact  of  the  foreign  language  would  rule  it  from  our  consider 
ation. 

Others  say,  Why  has  he  so  persistently  ignored  the  women 
dramatists?  And  there  is  only  one  reply  for  that.  After 
one  has  measured  the  excellence  of  Marguerite  Merrington's 
"Captain  Letterblair"  (1892),  and  the  varied  products  by 
Martha  Morton,  Grace  Livingston  Furniss,  Rida  Johnson 
Young,  Margaret  Mayo,  and  Genevieve  Haines,  there  is 
little  to  say  individually  except  that  the  cleverness  of  dia 
logue  and  situation  show  women  to  be  factors  in  the  theatre 
of  to-day.  There  is  only  one  of  them  who  has  established 
a  style  and  an  attitude.  I  mean  Rachel  Crothers,  whose 
"The  Three  of  Us"  and  "A  Man's  World"  display  active 
reasoning.1 

In  other  words,  contemporary  drama  in  America  is  plentiful, 
but  only  after  it  survives  the  newspaper  critic  and  the  public 
should  it  be  reckoned  in  its  relation  to  the  body  dramaturgic 

1  Mrs.  Fiske  has  written  several  effective  playlets,  among  them 
the  following:  "The  Rose,"  "The  Eyes  of  the  Heart,"  and  "A 
Light  from  St.  Agnes." 


Photo,  by  Otto  Sarony  Co. 


RUPERT  HUGHES 


L'ENVOIE  377 

as  a  whole.  Eugene  Walter's  "The  Easiest  Way"  shows 
excellent  technique  and  poignant  handling,  but  it  is,  after 
all,  only  a  bit  of  reportorial  realism  which  he  has  not  so  far 
surpassed.  At  present  he  does  not  even  justify  the  state 
ment  that  he  is  a  man  of  one  lasting  play,  as  Moody  may 
claim  to  be  in  "  The  Great  Divide."  In  a  period  when  nearly 
every  one  inspired  to  write  is  writing  plays,  it  were  futile 
to  give  separate  consideration  to  dramas  which  may  draw 
but  which  in  noway  strengthen  the  dramatic  idea  in  America. 
There  are  numberless  men  who  may  be  grouped  in  the  class 
of  newspaper  paragraphers;  they  have  given  amusement 
of  various  sorts  to  crowded  houses,  but  they  have  stood  for 
little  more  than  this  popular  amusement.  Richard  Harding 
Davis  belongs  to  this  class;  so  do  Edwin  Milton  Royle, 
Channing  Pollock,  Rupert  Hughes,  Paul  Armstrong,  Willis 
Steele,  Henry  Blossom,  William  Collier,  and  C.  M.  S. 
McClellan.  An  historical  survey  is  never  contemporary, 
and  the  fairest  way  for  a  critic  to  approach  the  theatre  is 
from  the  standpoint  of  dominant  personalities  and  general 
tendencies.1 

Playwriting  is  lucrative,  but  these  men  and  women  know 
that  it  flourishes  upon  disappointment,  upon  the  power  of 
taking  infinite  pains.  It  has  its  many  forms,  but  in  each 
the  essential  theatrical  requirement  is  construction,  and  it  is 
this  which  proves  the  stumbling  block  to  so  many  aspirants. 
But  there  is  the  equally  important  element  which,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  the  foregoing  studies  have  emphasized  —  the  element 
which  goes  hand  in  hand  with  construction  —  Idea.  And 
all  these  minor  playwrights,  minor  in  attitude  if  not  in  ac 
complishment,  have  awakened  within  the  past  decade  to  the 
fact  that  the  American  dramatist  will  find  that  Idea  in  the 

1  For  contemporary  records,  the  student  is  referred  to  The 
Theatre  Magazine,  under  the  excellent  editorial  supervision  of 
Arthur  Hornblow. 


378  THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 

hopes  and  passions,  the  struggles,  defeats,  and  victories 
which  constitute  American  life.  That  is  the  forceful  fact 
which  will  persist  after  any  consideration  of  the  American 
dramatist,  from  whatever  viewpoint  he  may  be  regarded. 
And  the  duty  of  the  dramatic  critic  is  to  abet  any  sincere 
effort  that  holds  life  and  truth  above  glory  and  gain. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  THE  AMERICAN 
DRAMATIST 


[Not  much  permanent  writing  has  been  done  on  the  subject  of  the  American 
drama.  Outside  of  biographies  and  general  theatrical  records,  opinions  concerning 
playwrights  and  theatre  conditions  are  to  be  found  only  in  magazines.  Hence,  the 
etudent  has  to  resort  to  the  cumulative  indexes.  The  following  references  are  of 
value  simply  as  a  means  of  affording  some  starting-point  for  further  investigation. 
Titles  marked  *  are  books.  See  Bibliography  in  the  present  author's  "  Famous 
Actor-Families  in  America."] 

•Adams,  William  Davenport.     A  Dictionary  of  the  Drama.     1904. 
Ade,  George. 

Father  and  the  Boys.   Excerpts.    Current  Literature,  45 : 316-24. 
His  Work.     Book  Buyer,  19:254,  1899. 
How  George  Did  It.     Book  Buyer,  25: 316. 
Story  of  his  Work.     Munsey,  29 : 465-66. 
Work  of.     W.  D.  Howells.     North  American,  176: 739-43. 
American  on  the  Stage,  The.     J.  B.  Matthews.     Scribner,  28:321. 
•American  Plays  and  Poetry  in  the  Collection  of  C.  F.  Harris. 

Providence,  1874. 

Amusing  People.    Coney  Island.    Frederick  W.  Thompson.   Metro 
politan  Magazine,  32:601-10. 
Audiences,  Theatre,  Psychology  of.   C.  Hamilton.    Forum,  39:234- 

48. 
Beck  Collection  of  Prompt  Books  in  the  New  York  Public  Library. 

Bulletin,  F.,  '06,  pp.  100-48. 
Belasco,  David. 

Advice  to  the  Girl  with  Dramatic  Ambitions.     Woman's  Home 

Companion,  31:7. 

Drama,  Opinions  on  the.    Current  Literature,  23:248. 
Dramatic  Schools.     Cosmopolitan,  35:359-68. 
Man,  The,  and  his  Work.     H.  A.  Harris.      Cosmopolitan,  47: 

755-64. 
Presentation  of  the  National  Drama.      Harper's  Weekly,  48: 

1844-45. 
Theatrical  Syndicate.     Cosmopolitan,  38: 193-98. 


380  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

*Bibliography,  Dramatists. 

Bulletin  of  Bibliography,  No.  18.  38  pp.  Boston  Book  Company, 

1907. 

*Blake.     Historical  Account  of  the  Providence  Stage.    [See  also 
"History  of  the  Providence  Stage,  1762-1891."    George  O. 
Willard.     1891.] 
*Boston  Theatre,  History  of  the.     E.  Tompkins  and  Q.  Kilby. 

Houghton,  1908. 

*Boston,  The  Drama  in.  William  W.  Clapp.  Vol.  IV.,  Chap.  V, 
in  "The  Memorial  History  of  Boston."  Edited  by  Justin 
Winsor.  [See  files  of  Boston  playbills  in  the  Boston  Public 
Library.] 

Boucicault,  Dion.  Rip  van  Winkle.  J.  L.  Ford.  Munsey,  35:  72. 
[For  Bibliography  on  B.,  see  "Famous  Actor-Families  in 
America."] 

Broadhurst,  George  H.   Man  of  the  Hour.   Excerpts.  Current  Liter 
ature,  42:541-47. 
Brougham,  John. 

*Life,  Stories,  and  Poems.     William  Winter.     Osgood,  1881. 
*Comedians,  A  Group  of.    W.  L.  Keese.   Dunlap  Society  Pub 
lication,  n.  s.,  15,  1901. 
*Brown,   Charles  Brockden,   Life  of.     William  Dunlap.     2  vols. 

Philadelphia,  1815. 
Burlesque,  Home  of  the.    The  Gaiety.    R.  L.  Hartt.    Atlantic,  101: 

68-78. 

W.  D.  Howells.     Atlantic,  23:  635-44. 
American.     L.  Hutton.     Harper,  81 : 59-74. 
Founders  of.      Temple  Bar,  29 : 318. 

*Chronology  of  the  American  Stage.     F.  C.  Wemyss.     1852. 
*Clapp,  H.  A.      Reminiscences  of  a  Dramatic  Critic.      Houghton, 

1902. 
*Clapp,  J.  B.,  and  Edgett,  E.  F.      Plays  of  the  Present.      Dunlap 

Society,  1902. 
Closet-Drama.     Dial,  44: 163-65. 

Legitimacy  of  the.   J.  B.  Matthews.   North  American,  187: 213- 

23. 

Colleges,  Art  of  Drama  in.    K.  Merrill.    Education,  26: 419-29. 
Comedy,  Modern.     J.  B.  Matthews.     Blackwood,  19:46. 

Modern  Tendencies  of.     C.  Wyndham.     North  American,  149: 

607-15. 

Nature  of.     Living  Age,  248: 378-81. 
Two  Thousand  Years  of.     C.  S.  A.  Herford.     New  England 

Magazine,  53 : 44 1 . 

Comic  Opera,  The  Decline  of.  W.  J.  Henderson.  International 
Quarterly,  Jan.,  1905. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  381 

*Covent  Garden  Theatre,  Annals  of,  from  1732-1897.    H.  S.  Wynd- 

ham.     Scribner. 

*Cowell.     Thirty  Years  Among  the  Players. 
Crothers,  Rachel.     Troubles  of  a  Playwright.     Harper's  Bazaar, 

45:4. 
Daly,  Augustin. 

American  Drama  (Daly).     North  American,  142:  485-92. 

Appreciation  of.    A.  I.  Du  P.  Coleman.     Critic,  35:  712-20. 

Catalogue  of  autograph  letters,  playbills,  etc. 

Catalogue  of  his  books. 

Daly.     Donahoe's  Magazine,  42:35-41. 

Daly  Collection.    Charles  H.  Caffin.   Harper's  Weekly,  44:  227- 

28. 

Daly  Library.     Henry  Blackwell.     Booklover's,  200-3. 
Daly's  Stock  Company.     L.  C.  Davis.     Lippincott,  32:  396. 
Daly  Theatre,  American  School  of  Dramatic  Art.   J.  R.  Towse 

and  G.  P.  Lathrop.     Century,  56: 261-75. 
Daniel   Frohman   and:    Stock   Companies   Contrasted.        A. 

Brownell.     Bostonian,  3:292. 
*Diary  of  a  Daly  Debutante.    Being  Passages  from  the  Journal 

of  a  Member  of  the  Daly  Famous  Company  of  Players.  Duf- 

field,  1910. 

Dramatic  Dictator.     Booklover's,  3:401. 

Group  of  Rare  Lambs.   L.  R.  McCabe.   Book  Buyer,  20:  33-40. 
His  Life  Work.      Critic,  35:579;    Cosmopolitan,  27:405-18, 

G.  Kobb6. 

Library  of.    Athenceum,  1900,  1 :  371-72. 
Modern  Stage  and.        Saturday  Review,  79:  860.        [See  G.  B. 

Shaw's  "Dramatic  Opinions."! 
Story  of  the  Daly  Bible.     L.  R.  McCabe.     Catholic  World,  70: 

809-20. 
Treasures  of  the  Daly  Library.     C.  Shipman.     Critic,  36:  213- 

19. 
[See  also  published  plays  by  Daly;  cf.  his  Shakespeare  edition 

with  the  editing  of  Edwin  Forrest.] 
Daly,  C.  P.    When  Was  the  Drama  Introduced  in  America?    1864. 

[Pamphlet.] 
*The  First  Theatre  in  America.      Dunlap  Society  Publication, 

n.  s.,  v.  1,  1896. 
Davis,  Richard  Harding. 

*Farces:  The  Dictator,  The  Galloper,  etc.     Scribner,  1906. 
Playing  the  Drama.     Collier,  42: 14. 
*Drama,  The:  Its  Laws  and  its  Technique.    Elizabeth  Woodbridge. 

Allyn  and  Bacon,  1898. 
*Study  of  the.     J.  B.  Matthews.     Houghton,  1910. 


382  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

The  Drama  (Continued) 

*Decline  of,  Cause  of.     Dunlap.   American  Theatre,  1 : 407. 
About  Play-Acting.     M.  Twain.     Forum,  26: 143-51. 
Early,  in  Boston.     C.  H.  Pattee.     Bostonian,  2:254. 
Foreign,  on  the  English  and  American  Stage.      No.  II.     C.  O. 

Ayer.     Colorado  University  Studies,  7:  63-72. 
Future  of  the,  Arthur  Bourchier.  Nineteenth  Century,  62:  441-56. 
Modern,  Corner-stones  of  the.     H.  A.  Jones.     Fortnightly,  86: 

1084-94. 

Modern,  The.     William  Archer.    McClure,  34:  3-16. 
National,  Foundations  of  a.     H.  A.  Jones.     North  American, 

186:384-93. 

New,  and  New  Theatre.    William  Archer.    McClure,  34:  3-16. 
of  Democracy.      P.  Mackaye.     Columbia  University  Quarterly, 

10:173-83. 

of  Ideas.     N.  Hapgood.     Contemporary,  74:  712-23. 
of  Revolt.     H.  H.  Boyesen.     Bookman,  1:384. 
of  the  Moment,  and  Ibsen's  Plays.    H.  A.  Kennedy.    Nineteenth 

Century,  30:258-74. 
Plain  Talk  on  the.    Richard  Mansfield.    North  American,  155: 

308-14. 

Printed,  Plea  for  the.     Current  Literature,  41 :  541-42. 
Social,  Modern.     C.  Hamilton.     Forum,  40:  265-73. 
U.  S.  1881.    To-day  in  America.    J.  Hatton.    2:  1. 
Drama,  American.     [See  Cumulative  Indexes.] 

Two  volumes.    In  the  Victorian  Edition  of  "The  Drama." 

[Edited  by  Alfred  Bates.    Published  by  Smart  and  Stanley.] 

See  Vols.  XIX,  XX. 
A.  Daly.     North  American,  142:"485-92. 
H.  Garland.     Literary  World  (Boston),  20:  307. 
L.  Button.     Lippincott,  37:289. 
I.  A.  Pyle.     Lippincott,  60: 131. 

and  the  American  Library.     P.  Wilstach.     Bookman,  8: 134. 
Beginnings  of.     P.  L.  Ford.     New  England  Magazine,  n.  s.,  9: 

673-87. 

Beginnings  of,  in  America.     R.  Davey.     National,  19:  802. 
Beginning  of  the,  in  America.     O.  Wegelin.     Literary  Collector, 

9:177-81. 

Characteristics  of.     A.  Hennequin.     Arena,  1 :  700. 
Dawn  of.     J.  Corbin.     A tlantic,  99:632-44. 
Early.     F.  S.  Gay.     Nation,  88: 136. 
Early.     W.  J.  Neidig.     Nation,  88:86-88. 
Future.     D.  Boucicault.     Arena,  2:641. 
Kicking  out  the  Great.    By  a  Professional  Play-reader.    Mun- 

sey,  41 : 844-49. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  383 

American  Drama  (Continued) 

Poetic.     L.  C.  Willcox.     North  American,  186:91-97. 
Revisited.     William  Archer.     Independent,  62: 1519-25. 
Drama  in  America. 

American  Quarterly,  1:  331;    American  Whig  Review,  2:  117(E. 

A.  Poe);  Democratic  Review,  40:554;  Dublin  University,  74: 

319;   also  N.    Ecclesiastical,  5: 555;    London   Monthly,    16: 

466;  Potter  American  Monthly,  8:  23,  346. 

Dramatic  Critic:  His  Work  and  His  Influence.      E.  A.  Dithmar. 

Forum,  23:237-45. 
Dramatic  Criticism,  Concerning.    R.  M.  Sillard.    Westminster,  150: 

634-40. 

Theory  of.     N.  Hapgood.     Forum,  27: 120-28. 
•Dramatic  Index.       1909,  1910.       Edited  by  Frederick  W.  Faxon. 

Boston  Book  Company. 

Dramatic  Outlook  in  America.  J.B.Matthews,  //arper,  78:  924-30. 
Dramatist  and  the  Theatre.      J.  B.  Matthews.     Century,  79:  3-19. 
Dramatists,  American.     A.  Hornblow.     Munsey,  12:  159.    [See  the 
files  of  the  Theatre  Magazine,  of  which  Mr.  Hornblow  is  the 
Editor.]    A.  Davies.     Cosmopolitan,  40:81. 
Protecting  Native.     Nation,  91 :  504. 
Dramatists,  Our  New  Generation  of.     W.  P.  Eaton.     American 

Magazine,  71 : 12O-29. 

'Dramatization  of  Novels.  J.  B.  Matthews.  See  "Books  and 
Plays"  and  "Pen  and  Ink."  [See  also  Bookman,  28:233; 
Cosmopolitan,  36:387;  Book  Buyer,  19:282;  Nation,  87: 
256-57.1 

Dramatizations.     P.  Wilstach.     Dial,  33:5. 

Dunlap,  William,  and  his  Writings.  O.  Wegelin.  Literary  Collector, 
7 : 69-76.  [See  Dunlap's  "History  of  the  American  Theatre." 
1883.] 

*Dunlap,  William.     Kotzebue  references  in  Frederick  H.  Wilkins' 
" Early  Influence  of  German  Literature  in  America."     Ameri 
cana  Germanica,  3 : 103-205,  1899. 
*Eaton,  Walter  P.     The  American  Stage  of  To-day.     Small,  May- 

nard,  1908. 

*At  the  New  Theatre  and  Others.     (1908-1910)  1910. 
Economics  and  the  Drama.     J.  G.  Leigh.      Economic  Review,  19: 

174-81. 

Farce,  Return  of.     W.  P.  Eaton.     American  Magazine,  71 :  264-73. 
Fitch,  Clyde. 

City,  The.     C.  Hamilton.    Bookman,  31 :  63-66. 
American  Playwright.     C.  Hamilton.     Bookman,  30:  135-38. 
As  a  Dramatist.    J.  R.  Towse.    Nation,  84:  526-27. 
Bachelor,  The.     C.Hamilton.    Forum,  41:  340-41. 


384  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Clyde  Fitch  (Continued) 

Critical  Appreciation.    M.  Birnbaum.    Independent,  67:  123-31. 
"Clyde  Fitch:  A  Tribute.    As  a  Foreword  to  "A  Wave  of  Life." 

[Signed,  M.  J.  M.] 
Dramatist  as  a  Man  of  Letters.    W.  P.  Eaton.    Scribner,  47: 

490-97. 
How  He  Writes  His  Plays.     Ada  Patterson.     Theatre,  7: 14- 

16,  vii. 
Impersonal  Note  in  Criticism.     A.  Dale.     Cosmopolitan,  47: 

347-52. 

Popular  Playwright.     Putnam,  7:  244-46. 
Sketch.     #a&ow,89:240. 
Current  Literature,  47:316-17;  47:552-54. 
*Forrest,  Edwin,  Life  of.     W.  R.  Alger.     1877. 
Frohman,  Charles. 

Character  Sketch.     S.  E.  Moffat.     Cosmopolitan,  33:293-96. 

Frohman's  Repertory.     Blackwood,  187:580-82. 

New  Phases  of  Theatre  Management.     Harper's  Weekly,  48: 

2022-24. 

Sketch  of  Frohman.     Munsey,  21 : 945. 
When  Actors  Play  to  an  Audience  of  One.     J.  D.  Williams. 

Ladies'  Home  Journal,  27:9. 
Frohman,  Daniel. 

Manager's  View  of  the  Stage.     Harper's  Weekly,  48: 1988-89, 

1999. 
"Memories  of  a  Manager:  Reminiscences  of  the  Old  Lyceum. 

Doubleday,  1911. 

Tendencies  of  the  American  Stage.     Cosmopolitan,  38: 15-22. 
Theatres,  The,  and  the  Public.     Independent,  64 : 252-53. 
*Garnett,  Porter.    The  Bohemian  Jinks.    Bohemian  Club.     1908. 
*Grau,  Robert.       Forty  Years'  Observation  of  Music  and  Drama. 

1909. 

"The  Business  Man  in  the  Amusement  World.     1910. 
"Hamilton,  Clayton.     The  Theory  of  the  Theatre.     Holt,  1910. 
"Hapgood,  Norman.        The  Stage  hi  America,  1897-1900.        Mac- 

millan,  1901. 
Howard,  Bronson.     His  Work.     Bookman,  10: 195. 

Our  Schools  for  the  Stage.     (B.  H.)     Century,  61: 28-37. 
The  Banker's  Daughter.     J.  L.  Ford.     Munsey,  34: 122,  199. 
The  Plays  of.     Century,  3: 465. 

Howells,  W.  D.     A  New  Taste  in  Theatricals.    Burlesques.    Atlan 
tic,  23:635-44. 

"Criticism  and  Fiction.     Harper,  1892. 
John  T.  Raymond  as  Col.  Sellers.     Atlantic,  35:;749-51. 
Plays  of  Henry  Arthur  Jones.    North  American,  186:  205-12. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  385 

Hoyt,  Charles  H.     An  Analysis  of  his  Farces.   .Bostonian,  3:  386. 
Humor,  American,  and  Bret  Harte.     G.  K.  Chesterton.     Critic, 

41: 170-74.     [In  "Varied  Types."] 

American  Humorists.     J.  Benton.    Bookman,  21 :  584-89. 
American  Sense  of.     H.  Roof.     Outlook,  96:  311-16. 
Broad  American.     N.  Hapgood.     [Weber  and  Fields.]    See  his 

"The  Stage  in  America." 

Capable  Humorist.     M.  Twain.    Harper's  Weekly,  53:  13. 
Century  of  American.    J.  L.  Ford.    Munsey,  25:482-90. 
Essence  of.    A.  C.  Benson.    Putnam,  3:  48-54. 
Essence  of  American.     C.  Johnstone.     Atlantic,  87:  195-202. 
Feminine  Humorists.        A.  B.  Maurice.       Good  Housekeeping, 

50:34-39. 

First  Lessons  in.     C.  Wells.     Century,  64:  77-83. 
Holmes  as  a  Humorist.   J.  W.  Linn.    University  of  Chicago  Mag 
azine,  2:  16-23. 

Mr.  Dooley.     Living  Age,  267:  43^-41. 
Newspaper.     W.  D.  Nesbit.     Independent,  54:  804-6. 
Place  of  American.     F.  Treudley.     Educational  Review,  40:92- 

96. 

Retrospect  of  American.     W.  P.  Trent.     Century,  63:  45-64. 
Sense  of  Nonsense.     Carolyn  Wells.    Scribner,  29:  239-48. 
Some  Humorists.    L.Hancock.    Bookman,  16: 15-22. 
Word  Concerning  American.     J.  K.  Bangs.     Book  Buyer,  20: 

205-8. 

*Hutton,  L.     Curiosities  of  the  American  Stage.    Harper,  1891. 
*Ireland,  J.  N.     History  of  the  Stage  in  New  York.      (1750-1860.) 

1866. 
Mames,   Henry.      Brownell.     W.    C.      American  Prose   Masters, 

pp.  339-400.     Atlantic,  95 : 496-519. 
American,  The,  on  the  Stage.     Atlantic,  68:  846-48. 
*French  Poets  and  Novelists.     Macmillan.     1893. 
Theatricals.     London,  1894. 
*Views  and  Roviews.     Boston,  1908. 

Klaw,  Marc.  Theatrical  Syndicate.     Cosmopolitan,  38: 19&-201. 
Klein,  Charles. 

Daughters  of  Men.     Excerpts.     Current  Literature,  42:73-77. 

Klein  and  the  Third  Degree.     A.  Ruhl.     Collier,  42: 17. 

Lion  and  the  Mouse.    Excerpts.    Current  Literature,  42:  427- 

33. 

Merriwold  Dramatists.     B.  Millard.     Bookman,  29 : 627-33. 
Psychology  of  the  Drama.     Reader,  7: 374-77. 
Religion,  Philosophy,  and  the  Drama.     Arena,  37:492-97. 
The  Gamblers.     Excerpts.     Current  Literature,  50:  641-48. 
Third  Degree.     Excerpts.     Current  Literature,  47:427-33. 


386  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Charles  Klein  (Continued) 

Third  Degree.     B.  O.  Flower.     Arena,  41: 139-52. 

Third  Degree  and  Reformation  of  Police.    L.  F.  Pierce.    World 

To-day,  17:966-73. 
Lancaster,  A.  E.     Historical  American  Plays.    Chautauquan,  31: 

359-64. 

Librettist  and  his  Profits.    G.  Middleton.    Bookman,  28: 116-23. 
Librettists  and  Librettos.    L.  M.  Isaacs.    Forum,  42:  333-43. 
Literature  and  the  Drama.     E.  Fawcett.     Dial,  14:38. 
G.Moore.     Fortnightly,  52:620-32. 
H.  D.  Traill.     New  Review,  5: 502. 

Literature,  and  the  Drama.    H.  A.  Jones.    Atlantic,  98:  796-807. 
E.  A.  Baughan.    Fortnightly,  90:  775-82.    Living  Age,  259: 781- 

87. 
*Relation  of  Drama  to.     J.  B.  Matthews.     Historical  Novel, 

217-38. 

*Mackaye,  Percy.    The  Playhouse  and  the  Play.    Macmillan,  1909. 
*Magazine  and  the  Drama.   An  Index.    James  Harry  Pence.    Dun- 
lap  Society  Publication,  1896. 

Manager  vs.  Critic.  Paul  Armstrong  and  Hartley  Davis.  Every 
body,  21:119-25;  125-30. 

*Matthews,  J.  Brander.  The  Historical  Novel  and  Other  Essays. 
Scribner,  1901.  [The  Relation  of  Drama  to  Literature. 
The  Conventions  of  the  Drama.  The  Art  and  Mystery  of 
Collaboration.] 

*Inquiries  and  Opinions.  Scribner,  1907.  [The  Modern  Novel 
and  the  Modern  Play.  The  Literary  Merit  of  our  Latter-day 
Drama.  The  Art  of  the  Stage-Manager.] 

*Pen  and  Ink.    [The  Dramatization  of  Novels.]    Scribner,  1902. 
Melodrama.     H.  J.  Smith.     A tlantic,  99:320-28. 
Merrington,  Marguerite.      The  Theatre  for  Everybody.     World's 

Work,  21:13806-9. 

Merriwold  Dramatists.    B.  Millard.    Bookman,  29:  627-33. 
Middleton,  George.     Planting  a  Play.     Bookman,  32:  148-53. 
*Murdock,  James  E.     The  Stage. 
Museum-Gallery  for  the  Drama.     J.  B.  Matthews.     Bookman,  22: 

174-79. 

New  England's  Contribution  to  the  Stage.  New  England  Maga 
zine,  39:634-36. 

Newspaper  and  Theatre.     Outlook,  93: 12-13. 
New  Theatre. 

American  Magazine,  69:696-704;  Nation,  89:466-67;  Outlook, 

93:613-15. 

and  Contemporary  Plays.    C.  Hamilton.    Bookman,  30:  456-64. 
At  the.     A.  Ruhl.     Collier,  44: 16. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  387 

New  Theatre  (Continued) 

Henry  Miller  and  the.     Current  Literature,  48: 318-19. 
Its  Aim  and  Success.     Outlook,  94:  514-15. 
Literary  Mail.     Bookman,  30:  336-38. 
Service  to  Dramatic  Art.     Everybody,  22: 265-74. 
The  Director  of.     W.  Inglis.     Harper's  Weekly,  53:8-9. 
Year  at.     W.  P.  Eaton.     Atlantic,  105:689-96. 
Year  at.     M.  J.  Moses.     Independent,  68: 1030-35. 
W.  Ames.     Collier,  44: 17-19. 
J.  Corbin.     Harper's  Weekly,  52,  no.  35:  23,  30. 
J.  Corbin.     Outlook,  93 :  395-406. 
M.  Merrington.     Bookman,  27 : 561-66. 
W.  L.  Phelps.     Independent,  67:957-62. 
What  It  Stands  for.     Collier,  44:  10. 
Novel  and  Drama.    Advice  to  Authors.     Blackwood,   57: 679-87 

(1845). 

Drama  and  the.     Norman  Hapgood.     "The  Stage  in  America." 
Dramatized,  Earnings  of   the.    G.  Middleton.    Bookman,  28: 

233-39. 

Modern,  and  Modern  Play.    J.  B.  Matthews.    North  Ameri 
can,  181:699-711. 
Novels,  Dramatization  of.     J.B.Matthews.     Longmans,  14:588. 

J.  M.  Porter.     Macmillan,  40:244. 

Dramatizing,  Art  of.     P.  Potter.     Cosmopolitan,  36:387. 
Turned  into  Plays.    E.  A.  Dithmar.    Book  Buyer,  19: 282-84. 
Novelists,  English,  as  Dramatists.    E.  Morton.   Bookman,  7:  481-84. 
Novelized  Play.     Nation,  87:256-57. 
Palmer,  A.  M.  and  his  Theatre.     G.  E.  Montgomery.      American 

Magazine,  9:1. 

Moral  Influence  of  the  Drama.    North  American,  136:  581-606. 
Why  Theatrical  Managers  Reject  Plays.   Forum,  15:  614-20. 
Panic,  Theatres  and  the.     D.  Frohman.     Independent,  64:252-53. 
*Pantomime,  A  History  of .     R.  J.  Broadbent.     London,  1901.     [See 

Chapter  XX,  "Pantomime  in  America."] 
*Payne,  John  Howard,  Life  of.    Gabriel  Harrison.   Lippincott,  1885. 

[Contains  a  Bibliography  of  his  plays.] 
Play,  First,  in  America.     W.  J.  Neidig.     Nation,  88 : 86-88. 
F.  L.  Gay.     Nation,  88: 136. 
Problem,  Moral  Aspects  of  the.    L.  W.  Flaccus.    Atlantic,  102: 

638-46. 
The  Matter  of  the.    M.  M.  Fiske.     International    Monthly,  5: 

629. 

*Plays,  Early  American  (1714-1830).     O.  Wegelin.     Literary  Col 
lector  Press,  1905.    [See  also  Dunlap  Society  Publication,  n.  s., 
1900.1 


388  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

*Plays,  Later  American  (1831-1900).     Robert  F.  Roden.     Dunlap 

Society,  1900. 
Plays,  More  Early  American.    O.  Wegelin.     Literary  Collector,  2: 

82-84. 
Plays,  Printing  of.     C.  H.  Meltzer.     Independent,  62:20-23. 

Publishing  of.    J.  B.  Matthews.    North  American,  182:  414-25. 
that  Don't  Get  Played.    J.  Corbin.    World's  Work,  20: 13035- 

41. 
Playwright  and  his  Players.     J.  B.  Matthews.     Scribner,  45: 116- 

20. 

and  Playgoers.     J.  B.  Matthews.     Atlantic,  102:  421-26. 
Unproduced,  and  his  Play.    G.  Middleton.    Reader,  10:  167-76. 
Playwrights,  Dearth  of.     Nation,  84:448-49. 
in  the  United  States.     Bookman,  30:  35-38. 
Younger  American.     C.Hamilton.     Bookman,  32:249-57. 
Playwriting,  Success  in.     E.  Marbury.    Harper's  Weekly,  49:  1786; 

1792-93. 
Poetry  and  the  Stage.      S.  Gwynn.       Fortnightly,  91:  337-51;  also 

Living  Age,  261:3-14. 

Press- Agent,  Theatrical.     Independent,  59:191-96. 
*Ritchie,  Anna  Cora  Mowatt.     Autobiography. 

On  Frances  Anne  Kemble.     Macmillan,  68: 190. 
*Rees,  J.     The    Dramatic    Authors    of    America.      Philadelphia, 

1845. 
Savage,  Henry  W.      American  Managers  and  Players.      Harper's 

Weekly,  48: 1846-47. 

Opera  in  English  for  Americans.     Independent,  52:  1109-11. 
Schools,  American  Dramatic.   Algernon  Tassin.   Bookman,  25: 151- 

65. 
*Smith,  Solomon  F.     Theatrical  Management  in  the  West  and 

South.     Harper,  1868. 
Stage,  American.     Fred  Daly.     Time,  13:29-169. 

Condition  of.      J.   Magnus.     North   American,    144: 169-178 

(1887). 

Supremacy  of  the.     A.  Dale.     Cosmopolitan,  48:  75-80. 
Tendencies  of  the.     D.  Frohman.    Cosmopolitan,  38:  15. 
Stage.    Our  National.    James  L.  Ford.    McClure,  32:  491-99. 

Passing  of  the  Great.     W.  P.  Eaton.     Munsey,  41:  311-22. 
Stage  Management,  Neglect  of.     W.  P.  Eaton.     American  Maga 
zine,  71 : 400-9. 

Stock  Companies  and  their  Earnings.    Geoffrey  Monmouth.    Book 
man,  31:276-81. 

Syndicate,  The.     Norman  Hapgood.     In  "The  Stage  in  America." 
Theatrical,  Rise  and  Fall  of.     W.  P.  Eaton.     American  Maga 
zine,  70:832-42. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  389 

Tarkington,  Booth.          Sister  Arts:  Novel  or  Drama  for  pathos  or 

comic  hits.     Collier,  42:  15. 
Theatre,  American.     Early  Days.     Dial,  7:  271. 

First.         G.  H.  Moore.     North  American  History,  21:  58. 
Over-production  in  the.     C.  Hamilton.     Forum,  42:  353-65. 
Paucity  of  Themes1  hi  the.     C.  Hamilton.    Forum,  41:  544-51. 
Present  Condition  in.     J.  D.  Barry.     Booklover's,  5:239. 
Seilheimer.     Atherumim,  '90,  1 : 56. 
Theatre,  Endowed,  American.     Arena,  31 : 641 ;  32 : 48. 

and  the  American  Stage.    H.  Modjeska.    Forum,  14:  337-44. 
Business  of  a.     W.  J.  Henderson.    Scribner,  25:  297-314. 
Business  Side  of  the.    Hartley  Davis.    Everybody,  21 :  665-74. 
Subscription.     W.  D.  Howells.     Literature,  4:  313-14. 
Trust  on  View.     J.  R.  Towse.     Nation,  80:348. 
Vaudeville.     E.  M.  Royle.     Scribner,  26:485-95. 
What  is  the  Matter  with  the?    J.  S.  Metcalfe.    World's  Work, 

16:10204-7. 
Theatrical  Business  in  America.  C.  Hawtrey.   Fortnightly,  79:  1010- 

16. 

Conditions.     Nation,  84: 182-83. 
*Independent  Movements.        G.  Davenport.        Boston,  1907. 

[In  "Stage  Affairs  hi  America  To-day."] 
Manager,  A  Plea  for  the.     L.  F.  Deland.     Atlantic,  102:  492- 

500. 

Stock  and  Its  Dividend.   G.  Monmouth.  Bookman,  31 :  276-81. 
Theatrical  Trust.       Cause  of  Degradation  of  Drama.       J.  Ranken 

Towse.     A/atam,  84:448-49. 
Thomas,  Augustus. 

And  the  Bogy  Man.     A.  Ruhl.     Collier,  44:  23. 
Autobiographical  Sketch.     Outlook,  94:212-14. 
Claims  of  the  Candidates.  North  American,  187:  801-50. 
Harvest  Moon.    Excerpts.    Current  Literature,  47:  661-68. 
How  I  Wrote  My  Greatest  Play.     A.  T.     Delineator,  73:  221- 

22. 
Typical  American  Dramatist.    V.  W.  Brooks.     World's  Work, 

18: 11882-85. 

Witching  Hour.    Excerpts.     Current  Literature,  46:  544-51. 
Work  of.     W.  Winter.     Harper's  Weekly,  5:13. 

[See   also  Harper's  Weekly,  44:947;      Munsey,  24:  413-19; 

27:522;  Bookman,  14:449;  Critic,  44:  205;  Sewanee  Review, 

April,  1907.] 

*  "Alabama,"  "Arizona,"  and  "As  a  Man  Thinks"  have  been 

published. 

*Tragedy,  Our  Idea  of.     E.  E.  Hale,  Jr.     In  "Dramatists  of  To 
day." 


090  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Thompson,  Denman.     Current  Literature,  50:611-48. 

W.  H.  Walsh.     New  England  Magazine,  43:  43-50. 
Tragedy.    The  Origin  of.    W.  Ridgeway.     Quarterly,  209:  504-23. 

What  is  a.    H.  Caine  and  R.  Buchanan.    Academy,  34:  15,30. 
Trust,  Theatre.     W.  D.  Howells.     Harper's  Weekly,  42:  202. 
Tyler,  Royall.    The  Contrast.    Dunlap  Society  Publication,  No.  1, 

1887. 
Vaudeville,  Breaking  into.    S.  Collins.    Collier,  42:  20. 

Business  Side  of.     H.  Davies.     Everybody,  17:  527-37. 

Decay  of.    American  Magazine,  69:  840-48. 

Decline  of.     Harper,  106:  811-15. 

Holds  the  Boards,  Where.   C.  R.  Sherlock.    Cosmopolitan,  32: 
411-20. 

In.    H.  Davies.     Everybody,  13:231-40. 

Investigation  of.    N.  Alliston.    Independent,  53:  1733-36. 

Tony  Pastor.     Harper's  Weekly,  52:  10. 

Trend  of.     Independent,^  53: 1092-93. 
*Walter,  Eugene.     The  Easiest  Way.     Privately  printed. 
*Washington  and  the  Theatre.     P.  L.  Ford.     Dunlap  Society  Pub 
lication,  n.  s.  8,  1899. 
*Wemyss,  F.  C.    Chronology  of  the  American  Stage.    [1752-1852.] 

*Twenty-six   Years  of   the  Life   of  an  Actor  and    Manager. 

1847. 
Williams,  Jesse  Lynch.      The  Vice  of  Playwriting.      Metropolitan 

Magazine,  30:680-84. 
Willis,  N.  P.,  Dramas  of.    (C.  C.  Felton.)    North  American,  51: 

141-58. 
'Winter,  William.    Brief  Chronicles.     Pt.  1  and  Pt.  2.     Dunlap 

Society  Publication,  vols.  7-8,  1889;  Pt.  3,  vol.  10,  1890. 

*Other  Days:   Being  Chronicles  and  Memories  of  the  Stage. 
Moffat,  Yard,  1908. 

Theatrical  Mismanagement.     Harper's  Weekly,  54:  9-10,  34. 
Women  Dramatists,  Successful.    Virginia  Frame.     Theatre,  6:  265- 

66,  ix. 
Women  Who  Write  Plays.   L.  A.  Pierce.   World  To-day,  15:  725-31. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  391 


SIGNIFICANT  BOOKS  ON  THE  DRAMA 

Issued  since  1910,  which  bear  directly  on  the  work  of  the  American 
Dramatist. 

Andrews,   Charlton.     The  Drama  To-day.    Philadelphia:    J.   B. 

Lippincott.     1913. 
Beegle,  Mary  Porter,  and  Crawford,  Jack  R.  Community  Drama  and 

Pageantry.    Yale  University  Press.     1916. 
Belasco,    David.     Reminiscences.     Hearst's   Magazine,    beginning 

March,  1914. 
Burton,  Richard.    The  New  American  Drama.    New  York:  Thomas 

Y.  Crowell  Co.     1913. 
Burton,  Richard.    How  to  See  a  Play.    New  York:  The  Macmillan 

Co.     1914. 

Caffin,  Caroline.  Vaudeville.   New  York:  Mitchell  Kennerley.    1914. 
Cannon,  Fanny.    Writing  and  Selling  a  Play.     New  York:    Henry 

Holt  &  Co.     1915. 
Chandler,  F.  W.     Aspects  of  Modern  Drama.     New  York:    The 

Macmillan  Co.     1914. 
Chaplin,   Charles.     Charlie  Chaplin's  Own  Story.     Indianapolis: 

Bobbs-Merrill  Co.     1916. 
Cheney,  Sheldon.    The  New  Movement  in  the  Theatre.    New  York: 

Mitchell  Kennerley.     1914. 
Clark,  Barrett  H.     The  British  and  American  Drama  of  To-day. 

Outlines  for  their  Study.    New  York:  Henry  Holt  &  Co. *  1915. 
Crawford,  Mary  Caroline.    The  Romance  of  the  American  Theatre. 

Boston:  Little,  Brown  &  Co.     1913. 
Dickinson,  Thomas  H.     The  Case  of  American  Drama.     Boston: 

Houghton  Mifflin  Co.     1915. 
Drama  League  of  America.     Study  Course'  in  American  Drama. 

Montrose  J.  Moses.     1916. 
Eaton,  Walter  P.     Plays   and   Players.     Leaves  from  a  Critic's 

Scrapbook.    Cincinnati:  Stewart  &  Kidd  Co.     1916. 
Frohman,  Daniel,  and  Marcosson,  Isaac  F.    Charles  Frohman:  Man 
ager  &  Man.    With  an  Appreciation  by  Sir  James  M.  Barrie. 

New  York:  Harper  &  Bros.     1916. 

Gillette,  William.    The  Illusion  of  the  First  Time  in  Acting.    Intro 
duction  by  George  Arliss.     New  York:    Columbia  University 

Dramatic  Museum.     1915.    Second  Series,  No.  1. 
Goldman,  Emma.    The  Social  Significance  of  the  Modern  Drama. 

Boston:  R.  G.  Badger.     1914. 
Grau,  Robert.    The  Theatre  of  Science.    New  York.     1914. 


392  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Hamilton,  Clayton.  Studies  in  Stagecraft.  New  York:  Henry 
Holt  &  Co.  1914. 

Henderson,  Archibald.  The  Changing  Drama.  Contributions  and 
Tendencies.  New  York:  Henry  Holt  &  Co.  1914. 

Hornblow,  Arthur.  Training  for  the  Stage.  Foreword  by  David 
Belasco.  Philadelphia:  J.  B.  Lippincott  Co.  1916. 

Howard,  Bronson.  The  Autobiography  of  a  Play.  With  an  Intro 
duction  by  Augustus  Thomas.  Columbia  University  Dramatic 
Museum.  First  Series,  No.  II.  1914. 

Hunt,  Elizabeth  R.  The  Play  of  To-day.  Studies  in  Play-Structure 
for  the  Student  and  the  Theatre-Goer.  New  York:  John 
Lane  Co.  1913. 

Krows,  Arthur  Edwin.  Play  Production  in  America.  With  nu 
merous  illustrations.  New  York:  Henry  Holt  &  Co.  1916. 

Lewisohn,  Ludwig.  The  Modern  Drama:  An  Essay  in  Interpreta 
tion.  New  York:  B.  W.  Huebsch.  1915. 

Lindsay,  Vachell.  The  Art  of  the  Moving  Picture.  New  York: 
Macmillan  Co.  1915. 

Mackaye,  Percy.  The  Civic  Theatre  in  Relation  to  the  Redemp 
tion  of  Leisure.  New  York:  Mitchell  Kennerley.  1912. 

Matthews,  Brander.  A  Book  about  the  Theatre.  New  York: 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons.  1916. 

Moderwell,  Hiram  Kelly.  The  Theatre  of  To-day.  New  York: 
John  Lane.  1914. 

Munsterberg,  Hugo.  The  Photo-play:  A  Psychological  Study.  New 
York:  D.  Appleton  &  Co.  1916. 

Nathan,  George  Jean.  Another  Book  on  the  Theatre.  New  York: 
Huebsch.  1915. 

Pierce,  J.  A.  The  Masterpieces  of  Modern  Drama.  With  an  In 
troduction  by  Brander  Matthews.  Garden  City:  Doubleday, 
Page  &  Co.  1915. 

Ruhl,  Arthur.  Second  Nights.  People  and  Ideas  of  the  Theatre 
To-day.  New  York:  Charles  Scribner's  Sons.  1914. 

Sargent,  Epes  Winthrop.  Technique  of  the  Photo-play.  Moving 
Picture  World.  1916. 

Shipman,  Louis  Evan.  The  True  Adventures  of  a  Play.  New  York: 
Mitchell  Kennerley.  1914. 

Sothern,  E.  H.  The  Melancholy  Tale  of  "Me."  New  York: 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons.  1916. 

Towse,  John  Ranken.  Sixty  Years  of  the  Theatre:  An  Old  Critic's 
Memories.  Illustrated.  New  York :  Funk  &  Wagnalls  Co.  1916. 

Walsh,  Townsend.  Career  of  Dion  Boucicault.  New  York:  The 
Dunlap  Society.  1916. 

Winter,  William.  The  Wallet  of  Time.  Containing  Personal,  Bio 
graphical,  and  Critical  Reminiscences  of  the  American  Theatre. 
2  vols.  New  York:  Moffat,  Yard  &  Co.  1913. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  393 


II 

A  SHORT  LIST  OF  PLAYS  BY  AMERICAN  DRAMATISTS   * 
PUBLISHED  SINCE  1910 

[For  further  references,  consult  the  Dramatic  Index,  and  the  Bulletin  of  Bibliog 
raphy,  Pt.  Ill,  IV,  vol.  9;  Nos.  1-2,  pp.  18-19;  January,  1916;  — pp.  44-45,  April, 
1916;  Twentieth  Century  Dramas:  English,  Irish,  American.  Compiled  by  Flor 
ence  E.  Foshay.] 

Anspacher,  L.  K.    The  Unchastened  Woman.    New  York:  Stokes. 

1916. 
Belasco,  David.    The  Return  of  Peter  Grimm.    See  M..J.  Moses, 

Representative  Dramas  by  American  Dramatists,  Vol.  III. 
Brown,  Alice.     Children  of  Earth.     New  York:  Macmillan.     1915. 
Buchanan,  Thompson.     A  Woman's  Way.     Drama  League  Series. 

New  York:  Doubleday.     1915. 

Bynner,  Witter.     Tiger.     New  York:  Kennerley.     1913. 
Crothers,  Rachel.      The  Three  of  Us.    New  York:  Samuel  French. 
Dickinson,  Thomas  H.     Wisconsin  Plays.     New  York:    Huebsch. 

1914. 
Dickinson,  Thomas  H.    Chief  Contemporary  Dramatists.    Boston: 

Houghton  Mifflin.    1915. 

Dix,  Beulah  Marie.    Across  the  Border.    New  York:  Holt.     1915. 
Dreiser,  Theodore.     Plays  of  the  Natural  and  the  Supernatural. 

New  York:  John  Lane.     1916. 

Ellis,  Edith.     Mary  Jane's  Pa.    Boston:   Little,  Brown.     1916. 
Gates,  Eleanor.    We  Are  Seven;  also  The  Poor  Little  Rich  Girl. 

Arrow  Publishing  Co. 

Gillette,  William.    Electricity.    Drama,  November,  1913. 
Hazelton,  George  C.,  and  Benrimo.    The  Yellow  Jacket.    Indianap 
olis:  Bobbs-Merrill.     1913. 
Kenyon,  Charles.     Kindling.     Drama  League  Series.     New  York: 

Doubleday.     1914. 
Mackaye,  Percy.    A  Thousand  Years  Ago.    Drama  League  Series. 

New  York:  Doubleday.     1914. 

Manners,  J.  Hartley.     Happiness.    New  York:  Dodd  Mead.     1914. 
Middleton,  George.    Embers  (1911);  Tradition  (1913);   Nowadays 

(1914);   Possession  (1915);   The  Road  Together  (1916).    New 

York:  Holt. 

Moses,  Montrose  J.    Representative  Dramas  by  American  Dram 
atists.    3  vols.    New  York:  Dutton.     1917. 
Robinson,    Edwin   Arlington.    Van   Zorn   (1914);   The   Porcupine 

(1915).     New  York:  Macmillan. 
Sheldon,    Edwin.     Romance   (1914);  The  [Nigger.     New    York: 

Macmillan. 


394  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Smith,  Winchell.     The  Boomerang.     New  York:    Samuel  French. 

1916. 
Thomas,  A.  E.    Her  Husband's  Wife.    Drama  League  Series.    New 

York:  Doubleday.     1914. 
Walter,  Eugene.     The  Easiest  Way.     Drama  League  Series.     New 

York:  Doubleday.     1917. 
Wentworth,  Marion  Craig.     War  Brides.     New  York:    Century. 

1915. 
Wilde,  Percival.    Confessional  (1916);  Dawn  (1915).    New  York: 

Holt. 


INDEX 


Actor,  the,  and  his  special  r61e,  40 

Actor,  the  American,  280;  and  the 
American  type,  60 

Adams,  Maude,  and  "The  Maid  of 
Orleans,"  244 

Adaptations  and  the  American 
manager,  56 

Ade,  George,  career  of,  272,  273; 
explains  "The  Sho-Gun,"  273; 
defines  American  drama,  273; 
characteristics  of  his  plays,  273; 
his  first  plays,  273;  and  the 
"movies,"  217;  mentioned,  305 

Advertising,  theatrical,  deceptive, 
38 

Agricultural  College  Little  Country 
Theatre,  332 

Aldrich,  Thomas  Bailey,  men 
tioned,  308;  and  "Judith  of 
Bethulla,"  364 

America  and  the  foreign  spirit,  9; 
and  the  common  clay,  10;  and 
the  technique  of  Ibsen,  10;  and 
Maeterlinck,  10;  and  spiritual 
struggle,  28 

America's  solution  of  social  prob 
lems,  10 

American  acting,  the  golden  era  of, 
and  Belasco,  115 

American  and  English  life  con 
trasted,  17 

American  character,  the,  14;  and 
the  play,  364 

American  drama,  essentials  of, 
11-36;  advance  of,  since  1910, 
289;  encouraged  by  the  Drama 
League,  290;  increased  interest 
in  the  study  of,  292 

"American  Dramas,  Representa 
tive,"  a  three- volume  edition, 
by  Montrose  J.  Moses,  72 

American  Dramatists  Club,  346 


American  girl,  the  theatrical,  86 
American  historical  drama,  45 
American  idea,  the,  88,  89 
American  life  and  action,  31;    and 
American    drama,     12;      distin 
guishing  features  of,  9;   where  is 
the  true,  92 

American  on  the  stage,  The,  49 
American  spirit,  the,  in  De  Mille's 

"Strongheart,"  15,  16 
American,  the,  in  defeat,  14 
American  themes  that  persist,  47 
American  type,  the,  75,  76 
Americans  characterized,  23 
Ames,  Winthrop,  as  director  of  the 
New  Theatre,  277;   as  a  success 
ful   manager,    286;     his   $10,000 
prize    competition,    304;     men 
tioned,  326 

Amusement  concentration,  354 
Andre,    Major,    and    the    theatre, 

43 

Anspacher,    Louis    K.,    the    excel 
lencies  and  defects  in  his  "The 
Unchastened  Woman,"  299,  300 
Archer,     William,     and     Granville 

Barker,  276,  277 
Aristotle  on  tragedy,  257;   and  the 

ludicrous,  267,  268 
Art  and  business,  279 
Arvold,  Alfred,  and  his  ideas  about 

the  Little  Country  Theatre,  332 
Audience,  interest  of  the  five-cent, 

211 

Audiences  and  the  open,  247 
Authors,    American,    and    foreign 

literature,  59 

Avery   Gallery  of   Columbia   Uni 
versity,  348 

Baker,    Professor    George    P.,    his 
course  in  drama,  242  (note) ;  his 


396 


INDEX 


"Workshop  47,"  335,  336;  and 
the  managers,  337 

"Banker's  Daughter,  The,"  changes 
in,  87 

Barrett,  Lawrence,  and  Howells,  64 

Barrie,  James  M.,  and  sentiment, 
237;  and  the  Comic  Spirit,  264 

Bateman,  Mrs.  Sidney  F.,  and 
"Self,  "53 

Beach,  Rex,  on  the  technique  of 
novels  and  stories,  301 

Beers,  H.  A.,  quoted,  62 

Belasco,  David,  and  Herne,  94, 
95,  116;  and  the  psychology  of 
the  switchboard,  111;  early  in 
fluences,  112;  and  Boucicault, 
112;  the  painter,  112;  analyzed, 
112,113;  the  dramatist,  113;  his 
education,  113,  114;  his  tastes, 
114;  early  years,  114;  his  par 
ents  come  to  America,  114;  in 
San  Francisco,  114;  and  the 
priesthood,  114;  as  a  stage  man 
ager,  115,  126;  re-writes  Shake 
speare,  115;  his  first  play,  115; 
the  struggling  actor,  115;  at 
Lincoln  College,  116;  and  the 
golden  era  of  American  acting, 
115;  and  E.  A.  Sothern,  115; 
manager  of  the  Baldwin  Theatre, 
San  Francisco,  116;  on  the 
Pacific  slope,  116;  becomes 
Boucicault's  secretary,  116;  de 
cides  to  go  to  New  York,  117; 
engaged  by  the  Mallorys,  117; 
at  the  Madison  Square  Theatre, 
117;  shapes  "The  Young  Mrs. 
Winthrop,"  118;  and  the  quiet, 
domestic  play,  118;  trains  him 
self  as  a  manager,  118,  119;  his 
published  plays,  119  (note);  his 
early  plays,  119;  and  the  Pas 
sion  Play,  120;  career  between 
1890-95,  120;  collaborates  with 
De  Mille,  120;  writes  "Lord 
Chumley"  with  De  Mille,  120; 
and  Sophocles,  120  (note);  cre 
ates  a  distinctive  atmosphere, 
121;  his  "The  Heart  of  Mary 
land,"  121;  his  "Zaza,"  121; 
difficulty  with  the  Trust,  121, 122; 


his  "stars,"  122;  his  collaborat 
ors,  122;  his  plays  in  collabora 
tion,  122, 123;  his  detailed  manu 
scripts,  123;  his  "The  Darling 
of  the  Gods,"  123;  his  special 
successes  (1909-11),  123  (note); 
detail  in  the  first  act  of  "Zaza," 
123;  the  barbaric  note  in  his 
plays,  124;  and  Sardou,  124; 
and  the  switchboard,  125,  128; 
his  studio,  126;  his  "light-plots," 
126;  at  rehearsal,  126,  128;  his 
theatricalism,  133;  his  position, 
134;  his  effectiveness,  134;  as  a 
reviser  of  plays,  136;  writes, 
with  Charles  Klein,  "The  Music 
Master,"  156;  criticizes  Little 
Theatres,  337 

Bernhardt,  Sarah,  and  the  moving- 
picture,  217 

Bidwell,  Barnabas,  and  "The  Mer 
cenary  Match,"  44 

Bird,  Robert  Montgomery,  plays 
by,  66  (note);  his  "The  Glad 
iator,"  66 

Bohemian  Club,  The,  of  San  Fran 
cisco,  247 

Boker,  George  Henry,  his  "Fran- 
cesca  da  Rimini,"  61,  71;  his 
career,  67,  68;  his  plays,  68 
(note);  quoted  on  "Francesca 
da  'Rimini,"  68,  69;  his  method 
of  work,  68-70;  criticized  by 
Richard  Henry  Stoddard,  70; 
stage  history  of  "Francesca  da 
Rimini,"  70  (note) 

"Books,'.'  comic  opera,  253 

Boucicault,  Dion,  57;  on  the 
American  drama,  57;  and  Eng 
lish  managers,  76 ;  and  audiences, 
111;  and  the  Madison  Square 
Theatre,  118;  gathering  facts 
about,  346 

Brackenridge,  Hugh  Henry,  dramas 
by,  45;  mentioned,  291 

British  Army,  the,  and  the  Ameri 
can  drama,  43 

Broadhurst,  George,  as  a  "Play- 
doctor,"  297;  his  "Bought  and 
Paid  For,"  298;  his  "Man  of  the 
Hour,"  299 


INDEX 


397 


Brougham,  John,  and  Now  York 
in  1842,  53;  and  W.  E.  Burton, 
55 

Brown,  Alice,  and  "Children  of 
Earth,"  the  prize  play,  304;  com 
pared  with  "The  Great  Divide," 
304 

Browning's  "A  Blot  in  the  'Scutch 
eon,"  235 

Burgoyne,  General,  as  a  dramatist, 
43 

Burnett,  Mrs.  F.  H.,  161,  166 

Butcher,  Professor,  and  tragedy, 
258;  and  the  human,  267 

Cardboard  play,  the,  154 

Carleton's  "Memnon,"  27 

Chanfrau's  Mose,  52 

Character,  sense  of,  169 

"Chimmie  Fadden"  and  other 
modern  types,  52 

Closet-drama,  our  literary  and, 
59-72 

Closet-dramatist,  the,  62 

Coburn  Players,  the,  246 

Cohan,  George  M.,  272;  his  plays, 
253;  mentioned,  305 

Coleridge  and  a  point  of  relative 
rest,  232;  and  drama,  234;  on 
the  drama,  235 

College  drama,  242,  243  (note) 

College  of  the  City  of  New  York, 
drama  in  the,  242 

Columbian  Celebration  Company 
and  Steele  Mackaye,  151 

Comedy,  and  tragedy,  255;  vs. 
tragedy,  260,  263;  the  tragic  in, 
261;  examples  of,  261;  poor 
analysis  of,  263 ;  and  tragedy  de 
fined  by  Matthews,  266;  and 
the  Greeks,  267,  268;  and  Shake 
speare,  268;  need  for  a  book  on, 
269;  defined  by  Meredith,  269, 
270;  bibliography  of,  275 

Comedy  of  manners,  343 

Comic  emotion  defined,  267 

Comic  opera,  252 

Comic  poet,  267 

Comic  Spirit,  the,  263,  264,  266, 
275;  and  Barrie,  264;  and 
Percy  Mackaye,  264;  and  fun, 


265;     in    literature,    265;     and 

Moliere,  268 

Communal  aspects  of  the  theatre,  2 
Condition,  social,  in  drama,  7 
Congreve  on  humor,  268 
Conrad,  Robert  T.,  66;    his  "Jack 

Cade,"  27,  64,  66 
"Contrast,  The,"  49 
Courtney,  W.  L.,  on  tragedy,  257 
Craig,    Gordon,    and    the   theatre, 

133 

Creole  drama  mentioned,  376 
Crinkle,  Nym,  and  Steele  Mackaye, 

145,  149 

Critic  and  dramatist,  36 
Critic,  dramatic,  work  of  the,  368, 

369,  371 
Critical  and  creative  faculties,  the, 

29 

Criticism,  dramatic,  need  for,  362 
Criticism,  theory  of,  369 
Critics  of  the  theatre,  2 
Crothers,  Rachel,  and  "The  Three 

of  Us,"  83;   and  her  plays,  376 
Crowd,  the,  and  drama,  3;  and  the 

dramatist,  6 

Daly,  Augustin,  activity  of,  56,  117; 
library  of,  344;  and  the  Ameri 
can  drama,  77;  on  the  American 
drama,  57 

Dartmouth  College  and  dramatics, 
334 

Davis,  Owen,  190;  quoted,  31,  32; 
evolution  of,  32;  situation  in 
plays  of,  191;  career  of ,  191,  192; 
attitude  toward  melodrama,  192; 
on  melodrama,  192-194;  "Con 
vict  999,"  194;  plays  of,  194, 
and  note 

Davis,  Richard  Harding,  "Soldiers 
of  Fortune  "  quoted,  17 

Dazey,  C.  T.,  "In  Old  Kentucky," 
37 

Definitions,  need  of  new,  in  drama, 
274 

Delsarte,  Francois,  and  Steele  Mac 
kaye,  142 

De  Mille,  Henry,  and  the  Madison 
Square  Theatre,  118;  as  a  reader 
of  plays,  118,  136;  collaborates 


398 


INDEX 


with    Belasco,    120;     association 
with  Mackaye,  135 

De  Mille,  William,  137;  and  Percy 
Mackaye,  130,  137;  his  plays 
and  his  position,  303 

Destiny,  modern  conception  of,  5 

Dialogue,  sense  of,  169 

Dickinson,  Thomas  H.,  and  the 
Wisconsin  Plays,  quoted,  314; 
mentioned,  324;  and  the  one- 
act  play,  326 

Dime-novel  period  in  America,  188 

Disintegration  and  regeneration  of 
the  theatre,  352-366 

Drama,  as  a  social  force,  1-10; 
growth  of,  3;  philosophical 
growth  of,  3;  modern  social,  and 
its  moral  purpose,  4;  and  clash 
of  wills,  4;  the  social,  5,  6; 
social  drama  and  the  critics,  6; 
and  action,  7;  and  the  "little 
moments,"  18,  234;  factors  con 
sidered  in,  18;  and  dramatic 
form,  18;  defined,  19-21;  essen 
tial  demand  of ,  21 ;  and  literature 
of  national  fibre,  24;  of  condi 
tion,  24;  and  the  reportorial 
instinct,  26 ;  English,  and  literary 
standards,  28;  trend  of,  from 
1750  to  1870,  37;  Quaker  feeling 
against,  42 ;  and  the  literary  atti 
tude,  61 ;  foreign,  the  formula  of, 
86;  externalizing,  154,  155;  and 
music,  relation  of,  187;  and 
the  poet,  228,  229,  236;  and 
quotidian  happenings,  231;  and 
passion,  232;  and  indefiniteness, 
232;  and  the  English  poets,  233; 
and  opera,  235;  and  life,  237; 
and  unseen  forces,  238;  status 
of  present  day,  241;  imitation 
of  ancient  attitude  in  modern, 
244;  civic  expressions  of,  248, 
249;  and  education,  249;  and 
old  moulds,  251;  present  day 
modifications  in,  251,  252;  and 
the  university,  265;  commercial 
regulation  of,  279;  characteris 
tics  of  modern,  289 ;  books  on  the, 
and  the  auctioneer,  340;  original 
sources  in,  346;  gaps  in  the 


study  of,  346;  transitory  char 
acter  of,  347;  rare  books  on  the, 
349;  university  attitude  toward, 
350;  word  national  applied  to, 
350,  351 ;  comparative  aspects 
of,  351;  present  changes  in,  356; 
critiques  on  the,  361,  362;  im 
proving  attitude  toward,  363; 
and  literature,  365;  bettering 
the,  365 

Drama,  American,  a  subdivision  of 
English  drama,  11;  defined  by 
American  dramatists,  12;  prob 
lem  of  defining,  12;  and  democ 
racy,  13;  and  "uplift,"  13;  and 
the  "square  deal,"  13;  and  his 
tory,  23 ;  imitative,  27 ;  historical 
trend  of,  28;  early,  44;  value 
of,  before  1870,  58;  interest  of 
literary  men  in,  65;  existence  of 
an,  74;  before  1870,  75;  and 
the  managers,  76;  a  market  for, 
89;  neglect  of,  91;  Poe  on,  227; 
forms  of,  251-275;  Ade  defines, 
273;  some  of  the  best  modern, 
305;  readable,  363;  and  Idea, 
377;  dramatic  critic's  duty  to 
ward,  378 

Drama,  poetic,  in  America,  91; 
should  it  be  dramatized?  227- 
238;  has  no  monopoly  on  poetry, 
228;  and  the  poet,  228;  is  drama 
twice  removed,  229;  vs.  drama, 
232;  characteristics  of,  233;  ex 
amples  of  the,  235;  material  for, 
237;  misnomer  of  the,  238 

Drama,  the  realistic,  and  James  A. 
Herne,  90 

Drama  League,  positive  contribu 
tion  of  the,  290;  aids  "Kind 
ling,"  295;  referred  to,  321 

Dramatic  conventionalities,  83 

Dramatic  critic,  lack  of  authority, 
368;  work  of  the,  369,  370;  re 
habilitation  of  the,  370,  371;  the 
dramatist  as,  371;  limitations  of 
the,  372 

Dramatic  criticism,  367;  and  the 
personal  element,  375;  rehabili-' 
tation  of,  375 

Dramatic  critics  removed,  374 


INDEX 


399 


Dramatic  curve,  20 

Dramatic  history,  revelations  of,  22 

Dramatic  library,  need  for  a,  341- 
351;  reasons  for  need,  342;  re 
quirements  of  a,  347,  348;  and 
New  York  city,  349;  attempts  to 
found  a,  349;  phases  of  a,  350; 
the  spirit  in  founding  a,  351 

Dramatic  writing,  the  first  Ameri 
can,  42 

Dramatics,  Educational,  322 

Dramatist,  the  American,  and  ex 
ternal  stage  craft,  30;  and  the 
New  Theatre,  282;  the  new, 
293,  302,  303;  the  defects  of  the, 
294;  technique  of,  influenced  by 
the  moving-picture,  30 1 ;  new 
dramatists  mentioned,  302 

Dramatist,  the  real,  1 ;  and  the  life 
of  his  time,  4;  three  essential  ob 
jects  of  the,  7;  narrow  vision  of 
the  social,  7;  his  trade,  35;  high 
speed  of  the,  172;  what  consti 
tutes  a,  296 

Dramatists,  Southern,  of  the  old 
regime,  60;  some  literary,  67 

Dramatization,  254;  and  the  novel 
form,  255;  defects  of,  20 

Dramatizations  and  audiences,  254, 
255 

Dreiser,  Theodore,  and  his  "Plays 
of  the  Natural  and  Super 
natural,"  304 

Drew,  Mrs.  John,  and  scenic  real 
ism,  112 

Dundreary,  and  other  built  parts,  40 

Dunlap,  William,  influenced  by 
Kotzebue,  47;  his  "Andre,"  46; 
his  plays,49  (note) ;  account,  48,49 

Dunsany,  Lord,  mentioned,  323, 
324 

Eaton,  W.  P.,  comments  on  Miss 
Farrar  as  a  "movie  star,"  220; 
comments  on  A.  E.  Thomas's 
"Her  Husband's  Wife,"  302;  as 
a  dramatic  critic,  372 

Electrical  "plots,"  127 

Electrician,  the,  and  the  theatre, 
125;  at  rehearsal,  127;  behind 
the  scenes,  128,  129 


Eliot,  George,  and  Steele  Mackaye, 

144 
Emerson  and  Ibsen,  233 

Fabian  socialism  and  drama,  315 

"Famous  Actor-Families  in  Amer 
ica"  and  Galton's  law,  135 

Farrar,  Geraldine,  and  the  "mov 
ies,"  220 

Fiske,  Mrs.,  and  her  plays,  376 
(note) 

Fitch,  Clyde,  "The  City,"  156, 
182;  at  rehearsal,  157;  and  Au 
gustus  Thomas  in  comparison, 
159;  his  local  sense,  169-185; 
and  Pinero,  170,  171;  plays  of, 
171,  172  (note);  "Knighting  of 
the  Twins,"  172;  as  realist,  ro 
manticist,  and  sentimentalist, 
173;  as  feminist,  173;  his  tem 
perament,  173;  his  use  of  the 
unusual,  173;  "The  Smart  Set," 
173;  and  Idea,  174;  on  drama, 
174;  and  foreign  drama,  175; 
and  imitation,  175;  a  New  York 
dramatist,  175,  176,  181,  182, 
183;  characteristics  of  his  plays, 
176;  "The  Climbers,"  177;  va 
ried  types  of  his  dramas,  177; 
his  feminism  and  his  characteris 
tics,  177;  cleverness  and  similar 
ity  of  his  plays,  178;  method  of 
his  humor,  178;  "Captain  Jinks 
of  the  Horse  Marines,"  178;  his 
last  trip  abroad,  179,  180;  his 
limitations,  179;  his  technique, 
180;  his  roles,  180,  181;  his 
published  plays,  181;  his  method 
of  work,  181,  183,  184;  bibliog 
raphy,  181  (note),  182;  his  per 
sonality,  182;  his  critics,  182; 
characteristics  summarized,  182; 
his  invention,  183;  his  ethics, 
183;  his  development,  184;  the 
future,  184,  185;  bibliographical, 
185;  and  the  poetry  of  ordinary 
existence,  238;  referred  to,  292; 
the  Fitch  Bequest,  292;  need  of 
a  Fitch  Memorial,  347 

Folk-drama,  247 

Footlights,  132 


400 


INDEX 


Forbrg,  James,  and  "The  Chorus 

Lady,"  303 
Ford,   Paul  Leicester,  quoted,  44; 

referred  to,  46 
Forrest,  Edwin,  and  the  American 

stage,  59;    encourages  American 

dramatists,  66 
"Francesca    da    Rimini"    on    the 

stage,    70,    71    (note);     Boker's 

play  criticized,  71 
Francke,    Kuno,    quoted,    3;    and 

modern  Germany,  6 
Frohman,     Charles,     and     Daniel 

Frohman,  57;    his  position,  357 
Frohruan,  Daniel,  quoted,  23 

Galesburg,  111.,  Prairie  Playhouse, 
331 

Galsworthy's  "Strife,"  240,  284; 
his  social  conscience  and  his 
plays,  295;  his  irony,  295 

Garland,  Hamlin,  and  locality,  12; 
on  Mrs.  Herne,  101 

Gates,  Eleanor,  and  "The  Poor 
Little  Rich  Girl,"  306 

George,  Henry,  on  "Shore  Acres," 
97 

Germans,  the,  and  comedy,  269 

Germany's  influence  on  American 
drama,  47 

Gilbert,  W.  S.,  and  opera  librettists, 
251;  and  his  "books,"  253 

"Gilded  Age,  The,"  dramatized, 
51 

Gillette,  William,  164-168;  his  play 
of  purpose,  164;  his  youthful 
career,  164;  his  ability  to  amuse, 
164;  and  the  well-made  play, 
164;  "The  Private  Secretary," 
165,  166;  his  early  career,  165; 
"Sherlock  Holmes,"  165;  "Held 
By  the  Enemy,"  166;  depend 
ence  on  French  and  German,  166 
and  note;  his  early  dramatic 
ventures,  166;  his  original  plays, 
166;  "Electricity,"  166;  "Secret 
Service,"  167;  adaptation  of 
Bernstein's  "Samson,"  167;  in 
Barrie's  "The  Admirable  Crich- 
ton,"  167;  his  sentiment,  167; 
green  lights  and  cigars,  167; 


his  caution,  167;  and  melodrama, 
168;  his  published  plays,  168 

"Girl  of  the  Golden  West,  The,"  as 
an  opera,  123  (note) 

Goodman,  Edward,  of  the  Wash 
ington  Square  Players,  quoted, 
313 

Greek,  the,  out-of-doors,  247 

Greeks  and  comedy,  the,  267;  and 
tragedy,  261 ;  as  dramatic  critics, 
370 

Greet,  Ben,  242,  246 

Gummere,  Professor,  and  the  vocero, 
247 

Guthrie,  Dr.,  defines  comic  emo 
tion,  267 

Hackett,  James  H.,  and  American 
characterizations,  50,  61;  and 
"Yankee"  Hill,  50 

Hallam,  William,  the  first  road  or 
ganizer,  42 

Hamilton,  Clayton,  and  the  theory 
of  the  theatre,  6 

Hapgood,  Norman,  on  Gillette's 
acting,  165 

Harrigan,  Edward,  271;  and  Hart, 
271 ;  their  careers,  271 ;  plays  by, 
272  (note) 

Harrison,  Bertram,  and  the  North 
ampton  Municipal  Theatre,  333 

Hauptmann  mentioned,  4 

"  Hazel  Kirke,"  147 

Hazleton's  "The  Yellow  Jacket," 
305 

Heniger,  Mrs.  Minnie  Herts,  322 

Herne,  James  A.,  and  the  American 
soil,  30;  and  his  compromise,  30; 
and  realism,  31;  arid  the  realistic 
drama,  90;  his  original  position, 
91;  his  faults,  91,  92;  his  excel 
lence,  92;  his  clarity  of  vision,  92; 
his  early  life,  93;  his  sense  of 
modern  treatment,  93;  his  par 
entage,  93;  joins  the  theatre,  93; 
his  first  appearance,  93 ;  supports 
Lucille  Western,  94;  early  career 
as  an  actor,  94 ;  in  San  Francisco, 
94;  his  Dickens'  characters,  94; 
his  first  marriage,  94;  and 
Belasco,  94,  95;  his  second  mar- 


INDEX 


401 


riage,  05;  and  the  Boiu-ieault 
drama,  96;  his  acting  in  "Shore 
Acres,"  96;  Henry  George's 
letter  on  "Shore  Acres,"  97;  his 
plots,  97;  "Hearts  of  Oak,"  98; 
and  the  commonplace,  98; 
"Drifting  Apart,"  98;  "The 
Rev.  Griffith  Davenport,"  98, 
99,  100;  historical  studies,  99; 
critic  of  his  own  plays,  100; 
quoted  on  art,  100;  his  intellec 
tual  growth,  101;  "Margaret 
Fleming,"  101;  his  two  types, 
102;  his  literary  recognition, 
102;  dedication  of  "Shore 
Acres,"  102  (note);  "Margaret 
Fleming"  on  the  stage,  102,  103; 
forsakes  stark  realism,  103;  as 
stage  manager,  103,  104;  at 
"Ashmont,"  104;  leaves  Boston, 
104;  "Herne  Oaks,"  104;  char 
acteristics  and  tastes,  104;  sup 
ports  Henry  George,  104,  107; 
the  man  described,  105;  his 
family,  105;  his  children,  105; 
a  man  of  the  theatre,  106;  stand 
against  the  theatrical  syndicate, 
106  (note) ;  his  opinion  of  art  and 
the  theatre,  106,  107;  his  belief, 
106,  107,  108;  praised  by  Archer, 
108;  his  style,  108;  quoted,  as 
example  of  descriptive  powers, 

108,  109;     bibliographical   note, 

109,  110;    description  of  Maine, 
109;    list  of  plays  by,   110;   and 
Belasco,     116;      and     art,     233; 
"Margaret  Fleming,"  234,  235; 
manuscripts  burned,  347 

Herne,  Mrs.  James  A.  (Katherine 
Corcoran),  95;  her  personal  in 
spiration,  96;  as  Mary  Miller, 
98;  Hamlin  Garland's  opinion  of , 
99;  her  reading,  101;  described 
by  Hamlin  Garland,  101 

Heron,  Matilda,  and  "Camille,"  56 

Herrick,  Professor  Robert,  his 
course  in  drama,  242 

Hill,  "Yankee,"  50 

Historical  personages  and  drama, 
46 

Historical  perspective,  value  of,  58 


Hobbes  on  laughter,  267 

Holland,  Joseph,  and  Morrell's 
"Life  of  Holland,"  345 

Hornblow,  Arthur,  mentioned,  377 
(note) 

Horniman,  Miss,  and  the  Manches 
ter  Theatre  cited,  311,  312, 
314 

Howard,  Bronson,  defines  the 
American  drama,  12;  as  an 
American,  30;  details,  73-89; 
estimate  of,  73;  broad  point  of 
view,  73;  lack  of  literary  flavor, 
74;  position  in  1870,  74;  and 
modern  technique,  74,  75;  title 
of  Dean  of  the  American  drama, 
74,  88;  his  influences,  76;  his 
ancestry,  77,  78;  his  father,  78; 
his  name,  78;  his  eye-sight,  79; 
influenced  by  Bayard  Taylor,  79; 
first  literary  inclinations,  79;  life 
in  Detroit,  79;  discusses  drama 
before  the  Detroit  Prismatic 
Club,  79;  prepares  for  Yale,  79; 
Harvard  University  address,  79, 
87;  "Fantine,"  80;  on  dramatic 
craftsmanship,  80;  a  "skeleton" 
play,  80,  81;  start  as  a  play 
wright,  81;  his  part  in  the  Civil 
War,  81;  his  newspaper  work,  81; 
as  a  journalist,  81,  82;  meets 
Charles  Wyndham,  82;  marries 
Miss  Wyndham,  82;  foreign 
models,  82;  on  theatrical  con 
vention,  83,  84;  his  feminine 
brightness,  84;  "The  Henri 
etta, "84;  "Baron  Rudolph, "84; 
"Moorcroft,"  84;  and  American 
themes,  84;  "The  Young  Mrs. 
Winthrop,"  84;  previousness  in 
themes,  85;  accused  of ;;  plagiar 
ism,  85;  his  repartee,  86 ;  society 
in  his  drama,  86,  87;  as  a  crafts 
man,  87;  illustrates  the  laws  of 
drama,  87,  88;  the  younger 
generation,  88;  copyright,  88; 
founds  the  Dramatists  Club,  88; 
bibliographical  list  of  his  plays, 
89  (note);  and  David  Belasco, 
118;  the  Howard  Bequests,  292; 
his  library,  343,  344 


402 


INDEX 


Howe,  Frederic  C.,  on  the  moving- 
picture  as  a  liberalizing  force,  223 

Howells,  W.  D.,  and  "The  Gilded 
Age,"  52 ;  his  farces,  63 ;  plays  on 
the  stage,  64;  and  James  and 
Garland,  their  theoretical  views 
of  drama,  64;  his  influence  in 
literature,  90;  quoted,  91;  men 
tioned,  308 

Hoyt,  Charles,  his  satire,  271; 
plays  of,  271 ;  his  weakness,  271 

Hudson-Fulton  celebration,  245 

Hull  House  Players,  The,  321,  322, 
327 

Hume,  Sam,  and  his  work,  323,  328; 
quoted,  329,  330 

Humor,  American,  255,  270 

Humor  and  Congreve,  268 

Humor  in  American  dramatists,  275 

Humor  vs.  wit,  270 

Humorists,  American,  256;  South 
ern,  51 

Huneker,  James,  the  critic,  369 

Hunter,  Robert,  46 

"Hurricanes,"  82 

Ibsen,  mentioned,  4;  and  women, 
8;  optimism  in  his  pessimism,  8; 
and  Tolstoy,  29;  ahead  of  his 
time,  83;  and  Emerson,  233; 
and  the  commonplace,  234;  and 
tragedy,  259 

Idea  and  the  American  drama,  25 
Importations,  continental,  17 
Indian  plays,  44,  45 
Insurgency,  theatrical,  354 
Irving,     Washington,     and     John 
Howard  Payne,  65,  66 

"Jack  Cade"  and  Forrest,  66 

James,  Henry,  and  drama,  63,  64, 
308 

Jefferson,  Joseph,  and  his  ambition, 
165 

Johnston,  Charles,  defines  Ameri 
can  humor,  270 

Jones,  Henry  Arthur,  why  an  Eng 
lish  dramatist,  11;  attitude  to 
ward  literature  and  drama,  64, 
65;  on  realism,  236;  as  a  dra 
matic  critic,  372 


Jones,  J.  S.,  "The  People's  Lawyer  " 

quoted,  50 
Jones,  Robert  Edmond,  328 

Kant  on  laughter,  269 

Katharsis,  the,  257 

Keene,  Laura,  56 

Kennedy,  John  P.,  dramatization  of 
his  novel, "  Horse-shoe  Robin 
son,"  50 

Kenyon,  Charles,  and  "Kindling," 
295;  the  Drama  League  and, 
295;  his  "Husband  and  Wife," 
295 

Kester,  Paul,  and  "Don  Quixote," 
264 

Kinetoscope,  theatre,  200-214; 
management  of  the,  200;  prob 
lem  of  the,  200,  202;  manager  of, 
201;  acting,  201;  length  of  films, 
201;  audiences,  202;  institu 
tional  use  of  the,  202;  a  wise 
manager,  204;  economics  of  the, 
204 ;  defects  in  the  performances, 
204;  the  "chaser,"  205;  the 
press-agent,  205;  the  Trust,  205; 
the  Union,  206;  timely  element 
in  films,  206;  reporter,  206;  Pas 
sion  Play,  206;  the  film  "route," 
207;  French  actors,  207;  con 
ditions  with  American  drama 
tists,  207;  French  dramatists, 
207,  208;  copyright,  208;  "The 
Music  Master,"  208;  eye-strain, 
210;  improvements,  210;  dangers 
in  taking  pictures,  211;  drama 
tizations,  212;  pantomime,  212 

Klein,  Charles,  "The  Lion  and  the 
Mouse,"  11;  mentioned,  28;  his 
plays,  33;  quoted  regarding 
American  drama,  33—35;  an  in 
dependent  manager,  357;  plays 
published,  292;  the  Klein  memo 
rial,  293;  and  Broadhurst,  298 

Koch,  Professor  Frederick  H.,  the 
work  of,  331;  his  belief  in  com 
munity  play  writing,  331,  332 

Kotzebue,  47 

Kremer,  Theodore,  melodramatic 
formula  of,  195,  196;  the  Clyde 
Fitch  of  melodrama,  196 


INDEX 


403 


Lamb,  Charles,  on  tragedy,  231 ;  on 
comedy,  269 

Laughter,  value  of,  267;  defined  by 
Hobbes,  267;  defined  by  Kant, 
269 

Leacock,  John,  author  of  "The  Fall 
of  British  Tyranny,"  291 

Le  Bon  and  the  crowd,  239,  240 

Legitimate  drama,  the  term,  190 

Leland,  C.  G.  (Hans  Breitman),  on 
George  H.  Boker,  67 

"Les  Mis6rables,"  first  American 
edition  of,  79 

Lewisohn,  The  Misses,  and  the 
Neighborhood  Playhouse,  322, 
323 

Library,  a  general,  and  the  drama, 
343 ;  private,  and  the  drama,  344  ; 
specializing  in  drama,  345 

Librettists,  popular,  252 

Lighting,  stage,  use  and  misuse  of, 
132,  133 

Literary  and  closet-drama,  our, 
59-72 

Literature  and  drama,  61,  62,  308, 
365;  and  the  soil,  90;  individ 
ualistic  and  collectivistic  tend 
encies  in,  3;  vitality  and  na 
tionality  in,  5 

Literature,  American,  and  Ameri 
can  characteristics,  51;  Henry 
Arthur  Jones  on,  and  drama,  65 

Little  Theatres,  the  craze  for,  309- 
340;  number  and  extent,  309; 
geographical  distribution,  309, 
325;  revolt  of,  and  intentions, 
310,  318;  book  by  Constance 
D'Arcy  Mackay,  310;  mis 
placed  enthusiasm,  311;  move 
ment  compared  with  the  British 
system  of  Little  Theatres,  311, 
312,  315;  the  aloofness  of  some 
playwrights  of  the,  312,  313; 
Washington  Square  Players'  Di 
rector  quoted,  313;  Thomas  H. 
Dickinson  and  the  Wisconsin 
Dramatic  Society,  314;  Prov- 
incetown  Players,  314;  tumult 
of  experimentation  in,  316;  a 
Director  quoted  as  to  purposes  of, 
316;  criticized  by  managers,  317; 


their  failure  and  their  hope,  318, 
327;  early  signs  of  revolt  in,  318; 
self-conscious  efforts,  319;  Bos 
ton  and  Philadelphia,  319;  the 
philosophy  of  the  movement, 
319;  Washington  Square  Players 
cited,  319,  320;  the  laboratory 
idea,  320,  321;  the  Pittsburgh 
School  of  Technology's  Depart 
ment  of  Drama,  320;  Hull  House 
Players,  321,  322;  Neighborhood 
Playhouse,  322,  323;  Portman 
teau  Theatre,  324,  325;  the  one- 
act  play  and  the,  325,  326;  the 
playwright  and  the,  327;  Hume 
and  the  Detroit  Arts  and  Crafts 
Theatre,  328,  329;  borrowed  re 
pertoires  in  the,  329,  330;  prizes 
offered  by,  330;  Prairie  Play 
house,  331;  Professor  Koch  and 
the  University  of  North  Dakota, 
331,  332;  Little  Country  Theatre, 
of  Fargo,  332;  educational  idea 
of,  332 ;  Northampton  Municipal 
Theatre,  332;  the  danger  of  the 
amateur  in,  334;  University  in 
terest  in,  334,  335;  dramatics  at 
Dartmouth  and  at  Oberlin,  334; 
Professor  Baker  and,  335,  336; 
dramatics  at  Yale,  Harvard, 
Columbia,  336;  the  pioneer  work 
of,  337;  antagonism  against,  337; 
Belasco  on,  337,  the  immediate 
problem  of,  338,  339;  books  and 
pamphlets  on,  339,  340 

Local,  danger  of  the,  179 

Local  sense,  and  Clyde  Fitch,  169- 
185 

Local  touches,  53 

Locality,  and  life,  25;  and  the 
drama,  362,  363;  sense  of,  and 
the  American  dramatist,  175 

Logan,  C.  A.,  and  "Yankee  Land," 
51 

Longfellow,  dramas,  63 ;  opinion  of 
drama,  63;  on  poetry  and  prose, 
63 
'Lord  Chumley,"  120 

Lowell  and  the  mystic,  232 

Lyceum  Theatre  and  Steele  Mac- 
kaye,  150 


404 


INDEX 


Macdowell  Drama  Fellowship,  242 
(note) 

Mackay,  Constance  D'Arcy,  writes 
on  Little  Theatres,  310 

Mackaye,  Percy,  "Sappho  and 
Phaon"  and  "Mater,"  11;  "The 
Scarecrow,"  236;  "The  Canter 
bury  Pilgrims,"  244;  and  the 
Comic  Spirit,  264;  and  the  com 
mercial  manager,  280;  and 
drama,  364;  and  his  father,  135, 
153;  and  W.  C.  De  Mille,  136, 
137;  and  Stephen  Phillips,  137; 
humor  and  cynicism,  138;  the 
poet,  138;  biographical  data,  138 
(note);  plays,  138  (note),  139; 
ideas  on  democracy,  138,  141; 
his  lectures,  139;  critic  of  the 
theatre,  139,  140,  141 ;  his  work 
from  1910-1917,  153,  307;  his 
improvement  in  technique,  307; 
"A  Thousand  Years  Ago,"  307; 
"The  Canterbury  Pilgrims"  as  a 
libretto,  307;  his  "Civic  Thea 
tre  "mentioned,  310 

Mackaye,  Steele,  and  his  son,  135- 
153;  and  De  Mille,  135;  con 
temporary  dramatic  authorship, 
137;  early  record  of ,  141 ;  family 
of,  141;  lectures  on  Delsarte,  142 ; 
the  Civil  War,  142;  on  the  actor, 
142;  exponent  of  Delsarte,  142, 
143;  Edwin  Forrest,  143;  as 
manager,  143;  his  rashness,  143, 
144;  collaborates  with  Tom 
Taylor,  144;  begins  to  dramatize 
"Silas  Marner,"  144;  career  as 
actor,  144;  as  Hamlet,  145;  his 
dramatic  training,  145;  his  plays, 
145,  146;  supported  by  Nym 
Crinkle,  145,  149;  his  influences, 
146 ;  "  Won  at  Last ' '  analyzed  by 
acts,  146;  the  theatre  of  his  day, 
146;  and  the  Mallorys,  147; 
"Hazel  Kirke,"  147;  opinion  of 
the  dramatist,  147,  148;  the  phi 
losopher,  148, 150;  theatricalism, 
148,  149;  origin  of  "Anarchy," 
149;  opinions  on  capital  and 
labor,  149;  on  democracy,  149; 
at  the  Lyceum  Theatre,  150; 


Columbian  spectacle  analyzed, 
150,  151;  Spectatorium  ana 
lyzed,  151,  152;  and  his  son,  153; 
family,  153  (note) 

Macready  and  sensationalism,  190 

Madison  Square  Theatre,  and  Be- 
lasco,  117;  and  Henry  C.  De 
Mille,  118;  "milk  and  water" 
drama  of,  118;  the  theatre,  118, 
136;  Daniel  Frohman  and  Frank 
lin  Sargent,  136 

Maeterlinck,  Maurice,  and  Lamb, 
231;  unseen  forces,  231;  on  the 
unexpressed,  235;  and  the 
Greeks,  259;  quoted  on  the 
tragical  in  daily  life,  259;  on  the 
tragic  spirit,  260;  "The  Life  of 
the  Bee,"  260;  "The  Blind,"  260 

Mallory  Brothers,  the,  engage  Be- 
lasco,  117;  criticized,  136,  147 

Manager,  the  theatrical,  and  reno 
vation,  40,  41 

Managerial  prejudice,  former,  and 
American  drama,  22 

Managers,  the  American,  56;  Eng 
lish,  and  Boucicault,  76 

Manners,  Hartley,  "The  House 
Next  Door,"  and  "Peg  O'  My 
Heart,"  303 

Mansfield,  Richard,  his  roles,  40; 
and  Moliere,  265 

Matthews,  Brander,  quoted,  49,  60, 
61,  62;  and  the  closet-drama,  72; 
his  course  in  drama,  230  (note); 
on  the  physical  outlines  of  the 
theatre,  243;  defines  comedy  and 
tragedy,  266;  and  his  work  in 
drama  at  Columbia  University, 
336 

Mechanical  drama,  203 

Melodrama,  and  human  appeal,  32; 
changes  in  American,  32;  con 
cerning,  186-199;  early  types, 
186;  the  beginning  of,  186;  the 
term,  186,  188;  and  romanticism, 
187;  advertising,  187;  and  the 
Radcliffe  School,  188;  in  Eng 
land,  188;  Schlegel  on,  188;  Be- 
lasco,  189,  198;  realism,  189; 
Walkley  on,  189;  miracle  plays, 
189;  characteristics  of,  189; 


INDEX 


405 


reaction    in,    190;     "Macbeth," 
190;   wild  species,  190;   the  hair 
line   of,    191;     Boucicault,    191; 
some  famous,  191;    accentuation 
in,   191;    Owen  Davis  on,    192- 
194;    Owen  Davis  on  audiences, 
194;      writers    of,     196     (note); 
how  to  write,  197;    conventions 
of,  197;   bibliography,  198,  199 
Meredith,  George,  on  comedy,  269 
"Metamora"  and  Forrest,  66 
Middleton,  George,  mentioned,  323 
"Military  Glory  of  Great  Britain, 

The,"  referred  to,  291 
Mitchell,     Langdon,     "The     New 
York  Idea,"  55;  "Becky  Sharp," 
283 

Moliere  and  the  Comic  Spirit,  268 
Moody,  William  Vaughn,  and  "The 
Great  Divide,"  11,  24,  236,  377; 
his  plays,  230;  compared  with 
"Children  of  Earth,"  304 
Morality,  imported,  26 
Moving-picture,  educational  possi 
bilities  of  the,  211;  harmful  to 
the  theatre,  214;  progress  of, 
since  1910,  215;  encroachments 
on  legitimate  theatre,  216;  struc 
ture  of  the,  217,  218;  the  Cen 
sorship  Board,  217,  223;  the 
actors  and  managers  and  plays 
ift  the,  218;  influence  on  acting, 
219;  "Treasure  Island"  as 
a,  219;  "Twenty  Thousand 
Leagues  under  the  Sea"  as  a,  219; 
"Shenandoah"  as  a,  220;  "The 
Birth  of  a  Nation"  as  a,  220; 
Geraldine  Farrar,  the  Metro 
politan  Opera,  and  the,  220; 
D'Annunzio's  "Cabiria"  as  a, 
221;  the  rise  of  prices,  221;  sta 
tistics  of  the,  221 ;  what  the  actor 
loses,  221;  limitations  of  the, 
222;  "Pierrot  the  Prodigal"  and 
pantomime,  222;  waste  in  the, 
222;  the  manufacturer's  aim, 
223;  Brian  Hooker  analyzes  the, 
223 ;  current  events  and  the,  223 ; 
Frederic  C.  Howe  on  the,  as  a 
liberalizing  force,  223;  use  of,  in 
the  Great  War,  224;  democratic 


grip  of  the,  224;  limitations  in 
"Peter  Pan"  and  "The  Poor 
Little  Rich  Girl,"  224;  actors 
whose  technique  suits  the,  224; 
Otis  Skinner  and  the,  224,  225; 
George  Bernard  Shaw  and  the, 
225,  226;  bibliographical  refer 
ences  on  the,  226 

Mowatt,  Mrs.,  and  contemporary 
drama,  53;  "Fashion,"  53 

"Muck-raking"  and  "star-gaz 
ing,"  8 

Municipal  Theatre,  of  Northamp 
ton,  Mass.,  333 

Music  and  drama,  relation  of,  187 

Musical  comedy  and  George  V. 
Hobart,  252 

National  Theatre,  what  is  a,  284 
Nationality  and  fundamental  dra 
matic  principles,  5 
Negro  in  American  Drama,  46 
Neighborhood  Playhouse,  The,  322, 

323 

Newspaper  dramatists,  377 
New  Theatre,  over-size  of,  111;  re 
sults  of,  276;  idea  of,  276;  open 
ing  of,  277;  concern  of,  277; 
object  of  the  Directors,  277; 
erection  of,  278;  name  of,  278; 
prejudice  against,  281;  initial 
period,  282;  National  Art 
Theatre  Society  and  its  Board, 
282;  position  in  theatrical  ac 
tivity,  282;  and  the  American 
dramatist,  282;  and  English 
actors,  283;  its  "stars,"  283;  in 
tellectual  ground  for  a,  283,  284; 
mistakes  of  the,  284;  repertory, 
284;  and  the  people,  284;  hia 
tus,  285;  building  designed  by 
Conried,  285;  first  year,  285; 
problems  of,  286;  new  building, 
286;  financial  loss,  286;  situa 
tion,  286  (note);  Literary  Di 
rector,  287  Shakespearean  pro 
ductions,  287;  other  produc 
tions,  287;  referred  to,  290 
New  York,  in  1842,  53;  theatres  in 
1882,  112;  theatrical  conditions 
in  1882,  117;  as  a  theatre  centre 


406 


INDEX 


285;  Public  Library  and  drama, 
345 

Nickelodeon,  audiences,  203;  press- 
agent  of,  205;  problems  of  the 
manager,  209 ;  stage-managing, 
213;  inspection  of  managers, 
209;  and  the  Children's  Court, 
211;  the  police,  211;  perform 
ance  of  "Macbeth,"  213;  police 
on  Shakespeare,  213 

North  Dakota,  University  of,  and 
drama,  326,  331,  332;  Professor 
Koch's  activities,  331 

Novel-writing  vs.  playwriting,  170, 
171 

One-act  play,  its  practice  in  Little 
Theatres,  326 

Page,  Curtis  Hidden,  translation  of 
Moliere,  265 

Pageant-master  vs.  stage  director, 
248 

Pageantry,  246 

Palmer,  A.  M.,  on  the  American 
drama,  56;  his  stock  company, 
56;  and  the  American  drama,  77 

Parker,  Lottie  Blair,  "Way  Down 
East,"  37 

"Pass,"  attractions  of  the,  359; 
evils  of  the,  367 

Passion  Play,  The,  and  the  moving- 
picture,  217 

Patterson,  Joseph  Medill,  and  his 
plays,  296 

Paulding,  James  K.,  "The  Lion  of 
the  West,"  50 

Payne,  John  Howard,  66 

Peabody,  Josephine  Preston  (Mrs. 
Marks),  and  "The  Piper,"  229, 
230 

Phonograph  and  the  Virginia  moun 
tains,  203;  tribal  songs,  203 
(note) 

Pinero,  A.  W.,  mentioned,  4;  inti 
macy  of  "Trelawney  of  the 
'Wells,'"  111;  and  Clyde  Fitch, 
170,  171 

Pittsburgh's  School  of  Technology 
and  its  Department  of  Drama, 
320 


Play  mounting,  155,  156,  157 

Play  rehearsed,  the,  158 

Plays,   reading   of,   290;    extensive 

writing  of,  362 
Playwrights,  need  for  a  school  of 

American,    25;     the    American, 

169;   the  newspaper,  170 
Playwriting,  elements  in,  169,  377 
Poe,     Edgar    Allan,     on     modern 

drama,      54;       Mrs.      Mowatt's 

"Fashion,"  54,  55 
Poel,  William,  242 
Poetry  of  prose,  238 
Pollock,    Channing,    dramatization 

of  "The  Pit,"  quoted,  16 
"Poor  Little  Rich  Girl,  The,"  by 

Eleanor  Gates,  306 
Portmanteau    Theatre,    The,    and 

Stuart  Walker,  324,  325 
Potter,  Paul  M.,  on  dramatization, 

254 
Power,  Tyrone  (1st),  and  Hoboken, 

178 
Prairie  Playhouse,  The,  Galesburg, 

111.,  331 
Press-agent,  359,  360;    superiority 

of  the,  over  the  dramatic  critic, 

368,  369;    authority  of  the,  373; 

stories,  373,  374;   the  old  vs.  the 

new,  374;   organized  work,  374 
Proctor  and  Keith,  252 
Prompt  copies,  155 
Properties  and  effects,  158,  159 
Provincetown    Players,    The,    314; 

and  the  one-act  play,  326;  men 
tioned,  329 
Public,  educating  the,  361 ;  reading, 

and  the  theatre,  19 

Realism,  91 

Regeneration  and  disintegration  of 
the  theatre,  352-366 

Rehearsals,  128 

Reizenstein,  Elmer,  and  his  "On 
Trial,"  301 

Renovation  of  past  theatre  suc 
cesses,  39,  41. 

Repertory  companies,  37 

Research,  problems  of,  341,  342 

Revivals,  246;   significance  of,  241 

Revolutionary  dramas,  45 


INDEX 


407 


"Rip  van  Winkle,"  50  (note) 
Rogers,   Robert,   author  of   "Pon- 

teach,"  291 

Romanticism  and  melodrama,  187 
"Rose  of  the  Rancho,  The,"  and 

its  "light  plot,"  129-132 

Sargent,  Epes  Winthrop,  and  his 
"The  Technique  of  the  Photo 
play,"  217 

Sargent,  Franklin,  and  Belasco,  120 

Satire,  American  social,  52 

Scenery  and  the  theatre,  361 

Sc&ries  d  faire  (Sarcey),  20 

Scenic  effect,  127 

Schlegel  and  melodrama,  188 

"School  for  Scandal,"  179 

Sensationalism,  conventional,  196 

Shakespeare,  Elizabethan  spirit  in, 
4 ;  influence  of ,  6 1 ;  and  comedy,  268 

Shaw,  George  Bernard,  on  the 
moving-picture,  225,  226;  on 
Shakespeare,  236;  mentioned, 
289;  as  a  dramatic  critic,  372 

Sheldon,  Edward,  242  (note);  "The 
Nigger,"  287;  his  plays  ana 
lyzed,  296,  297,  298;  his  haste 
and  his  skill,  297;  as  a  "play- 
doctor,"  297;  as  a  dramatizer, 
297,  298;  lack  of  strength  in 
"The  Nigger,"  297;  lack  of  at 
mosphere  in  "Romance,"  298; 
his  exuberant  dramatic  sense,  298 

"Shore  Acres"  and  Henry  George, 
97 

Situation,  sense  of,  169 

Skinner,  Otis,  and  the  moving-pic 
ture,  224,  225 

Slave,  the  African,  in  American 
drama,  46 

Smith,  Charles  Sprague,  and  the 
People's  Institute,  249 

Smith,  Harry  B.,  defines  American 
drama,  13 

Smith,  Richard  Penn,  66 

South,  the,  and  drama,  42 

Stadium,    a,    in    New    York    (See 

PREFACE),  247,  248 
Stage  designs,  156,  157;  elements  in 
lighting,  129;    masses,  157;   idea 
behind  setting,  158 


Stock  companies,  value  of,  38,  280, 

281;   plays,  280,  281  (note) 
Stoddard,      Richard      Henry,      on 

Boker's  dramas,  68,  70 
Stone,  John  Augustus,  66;  plays  of, 

66  (note) 
Style,  grandiloquent,  of  drama  after 

1830,  59;   and  drama,  62,  63 
Sudermann  mentioned,  4 
Sunlight,  moonlight,  and  footlight, 

239-250 
Switchboard,    David    Belasco   and 

the  psychology  of  the,  111,  125; 

value  of  the,  124;  use  of  the,  126 
Syndicate,  the  theatrical,  354;  evils 

of  the,  357 

Tarkington,  Booth,  and  the  Ameri 
can  spirit,  15 

Taste,  early  American  theatrical,  42 

Taylor,  Tom,  and  the  American 
type,  51;  Asa  Trenchard,  86;  and 
Steele  Mackaye,  144 

Terms,  dramatic,  256 

Theatre,  commercialism  of,  1,  353; 
education  of  audiences,  2;  Ameri 
can  manager,  2;  aloofness  of,  2; 
occasional  poet  of  the,  65;  local 
manners  and  the,  73;  sense  of 
the,  124;  amusement  and  the, 
164;  the  modern,  228;  intro 
spection  and  the,  231;  worn-out 
models  of  the,  231;  human  need 
in  the,  239;  and  the  crowd,  239 
(note),  243,  244;  civic  thought 
and  the,  240;  communal  feeling 
in  the,  244;  natural  resources  of 
the,  246,  250;  out-of-doors,  246; 
civic,  249 ;  National  or  New,  276- 
288;  as  a  deprovincializing  force, 
278;  disintegration  and  regener 
ation  of  the,  352-366;  manager 
as  a  business  man,  353;  public 
verdict  in  the,  355;  free-trade, 
356;  endowment,  356;  publicity, 
358;  manager  and  his  press- 
representative,  358 ;  imagina 
tion,  360,  361;  scenery,  361; 
hero-worship,  361;  poetic  drama, 
363;  Ideas  in,  363;  literary  man 
in  the,  364 


408 


INDEX 


Theatrical  Clearing-House,  358 

Theatrical  illusion,  dangers  of  de 
stroying,  360 

Theatrical  interest,  centering  of, 
352 

Theatrical  manager,  the,  280 

Theatrical  "open  door,"  359 

Theatrical  organization,  360 

Theatrical  profits,  364 

Theatrical  Syndicate,  bibliography, 
122  (note) ;  work  of,  279;  menace 
of  the,  279 

Theatrical  Trust,  evils  of  the,  355; 
excellence  of,  358 

Thomas,  A.  E.,  his  career  and  his 
plays,  302;  W.  P.  Eaton  on  "  Her 
Husband's  Wife,"  302 

Thomas,  Augustus,  defines  Ameri 
can  drama,  12,  13;  defect  in,  13; 
"The  Witching  Hour,"  83;  at 
rehearsal,  157;  career,  159-163; 
early  attempts,  159;  as  reporter, 
160;  his  French  technique,  160; 
"Alabama,"  160;  "In  'Miz- 
zoura,'"  160;  "Arizona,"  160; 
early  career,  160;  broad  comedy, 
160;  three  plays  of  telepathy, 
161;  debut  as  a  dramatist,  161; 
list  of  plays,  161  (note);  "Ala 
bama,"  162;  Henry  Watterson 
on  "Alabama,"  162;  opinion  of 
"Arizona,"  162;  value  of  the 
moment,  162;  opinion  of  the 
theatre's  province,  162;  "As 
a  Man  Thinks,"  162,  163;  his 
growth,  163;  his  published  plays, 
168;  and  the  newspaper,  170; 
division  of  the  United  States,  176; 
referred  to,  292;  plays  published, 
292 

Thompson,  Denman,  102  (note) 

Thorndike,  Professor  Ashley,  and 
"Tragedy,"  256;  on  tragedy, 
256 

Tragedy,  lofty,  60;  and  comedy, 
255,  256;  Aristotle  on,  257;  and 
the  Tragic  Spirit,  257;  and 
America,  258;  and  nationality, 
258;  types  of,  258;  and  form, 
261;  new  form  of,  262;  and  the 
American  people,  262;  American 


response  to,  262 ;  and  comedy,  de 
fined  by  Matthews,  266 

Tragical,  the,  in  daily  life,  259 

Tragic  Spirit,  the,  256;  defined, 
260,  261;  comedies  containing 
the,  262 

Trust,  the  Theatrical,  and  Belasco, 
121,  122;  excellence  of  the,  354; 
opposition  of  the,  354;  methods 
against  the  insurgents,  355;  and 
the  "open  door,"  355,  356;  and 
the  actor,  356 

Tully,  Richard  Walton,  "The  Rose 
of  the  Rancho,"  129-132 

Twain,  Mark,  "The  Gilded  Age," 
39 

Tyler,  Royall,  48 

Type,  the  American,  39,  49,  50 

"Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  46 
University      interest      in      Little 
Theatres,  334,  335,  336 

Vaudeville,    253;     and   the   actor, 

253,  254;  power  of ,  359 
Veiller,  Bayard,  his  plays  analyzed, 

300 
Vocero,  the  tribal,  239 

Walker,  Stuart,  and  the  Portman 
teau  Theatre,  324,  325 

Wallack  galaxy,  the,  56;  Lester,  56; 
J.  W.,  encourages  Willis,  60; 
Lester,  and  the  American  drama, 
76,  77 

Walter,  Eugene,  "The  Easiest 
Way,"  8,  377;  his  technique, 
294;  "The  Wolf,"  "Bought  and 
Paid  For,"  294;  his  greatest 
play,  "The  Easiest  Way,"  294; 
"Fine  Feathers"  referred  to,  295 

War,  the  Great,  and  the  moving- 
picture,  224 

Warren,  Mercy,  as  a  dramatist,  43, 
291 

Washington,  George,  as  a  theatre 
goer,  43 

Washington  Square  Players,  the, 
313;  Director  Goodman  quoted, 
313,  314;  the  organization's 
limitations,  320;  and  the  one-act 


INDEX 


409 


play,  326;  mentioned,  328; 
challenges  ire  of  David  Belasco, 
337;  further  criticism  of,  338 

Weber  and  Fields  vs.  Aristophanes, 
37 

Well-made  play,  the,  154 

Wendell,  Professor  Barrett,  neglect 
of  American  drama,  346 

Williamsburg  theatre,  the,  42 

Willis,  N.  P.,  as  a  dramatist,  60,  61; 
and  Forrest,  67 

Wisconsin  Dramatic  Society,  314 

Wister,  Owen,  and  America,  14,  15 

Women  dramatists,  376 

Woods,  A.  H.,  producer  of  melo 
dramas,  195 


Woodworth,    Samuel,    and    "The 

Forest  Rose,"  49 
Woolf,   B.   E.,  and  "The   Mighty 

Dollar,"  39,  52 

Yale  students  and  early  American 
drama,  44;  Dramatic  Associa 
tion,  The,  242 

Yankee  type,  49,  50,  51 

Yeats,  W.  B.,  quoted  on  the  Irish 
National  Dramatic  Society,  311 

"Yellow  Jacket,  The,"  by  Hazelton 
and  Benrimo,  305,  306 

Zangwill,  Israel,  and  "The  Melting 
Pot,"  237 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
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This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 

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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


